


The Question of Why

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: An Experiment, Control Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Sexual Tension, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After noticing that John has been acting a bit odd, Sherlock sets out to discover why. However, his experiment reveals more than he bargained for -- not just about John but himself as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Investigation Begins

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock was glad he had woken up before John. Last night, after Sherlock interrupted another of John's dates, John had promised 'they'd talk about this in the morning', and Sherlock wanted to avoid that. In truth, though, John often said things like that -- sometimes verbally, sometimes with just a look -- but they never did talk about it. Sherlock just kept annoying John and John just kept being annoyed, and neither of them made a single effort to change the situation.

Why? Sherlock wondered as he sipped his tea and stared through the window at the morning.

Well, Sherlock knew why he didn't change. He was just being himself, and yes, Sherlock Holmes was often bossy, impatient, and selfish. Not attractive qualities on a dating site, but Sherlock wasn't trying to charm John. John was already charmed. Sherlock was trying to live and work with John, and this meant Sherlock had to be who he was, even if who he was occasionally teetered over the line towards being a bully (a word John had used once, though he later apologised for doing so).

But John? If John really hated Sherlock's urgent demands and selfish needs, why didn't he actually do something about them? John had never refused Sherlock once.

Human interactions were sometimes exceedingly frustrating to Sherlock. Yet at other times -- especially times like this morning when he didn't have a case to keep him busy -- they were quite intriguing.

Sherlock moved to his desk and opened his laptop. A new experiment.

     Research Question  
     Why does John Watson enjoy Sherlock Holmes controlling his life?

Sherlock sat back for a moment and thought about the times John had complained about him.

     Areas of Focus  
     Invading: John's interactions with others, John's space, John's privacy

This had serious potential, Sherlock thought. He closed and password-locked the file before getting up to make more tea. He poured two cups and carried them both up to John's room. He tapped lightly on the door with his knee, pushing it open a crack. "You awake?" he asked despite being able to clearly see that John was not.

After leaving yet another lovely date to run home at Sherlock's request -- again for something stupid, texting Lestrade for a case even though Sherlock's phone was across the room and he could have done it himself -- John had stayed up far too late thinking about what he was going to say to Sherlock. Usually he made a fuss and then let it go. He liked being home with Sherlock, liked spending time with him, so while he pretended to be so very annoyed, he was only slightly bothered. Why go through the trouble of leaving the flat at all? Sherlock could just ask him to stay and he would. But he worried that Sherlock might get suspicious if John didn't actually say something one of these times, so he had a little speech prepared. He was sleeping soundly now, having sorted it in his head last night.

Sherlock came into John's room and set the tea on the table next to the bed. Then he went to the other side and crawled across, sitting cross-legged facing John. "Good morning, John," he said. "You've had a visitor but she's gone now."

At the movement of the bed John stirred, registering that someone was speaking. He opened his eyes and jumped a bit when he saw Sherlock sitting on his bed. "What are you doing in here?" he groaned, rubbing his face hard to try and clear some of the sleep.

"I brought you tea," Sherlock said, nodding towards the table. "And your friend -- from last night, I assume -- came by but I sent her away."

"What? Why?" John asked, more confused about why she came to find him than why Sherlock sent her away. He'd ditched her . . . wasn't she upset?

"I think she just wanted to make sure everything was all right here," Sherlock said. "Don't worry -- I explained that you often leave dates. She shouldn't take it personally -- you do that to all the women you go out with. She seemed to understand." He watched John's face. "That said," Sherlock turned and slid against the headboard, "she did ask if I were busy today. Would you care if I went to lunch with her? You'll be at work anyway, so I assumed it wouldn't matter, but I told her I'd have to check with you first. I was trying to be thoughtful."

John blinked over at him, trying to figure out if he was still dreaming. "You want to go out with the date you forced me to ditch?" he asked, scooting up and taking his tea in hand. "Which I still want to talk about, by the way."

Sherlock slipped his phone from his dressing gown pocket. "I told her I'd text her. What was her name, by the way? When she gave me her number, I just listed her as 'John's Girlfriend' -- I should probably put in her name or at least add 'ex'." He pretended to scroll through his contacts. "I could stop by the surgery afterwards and we could have that talk, if you want."

"No. We're talking now. Why do you keep calling me home every time I go on a date?" John asked, turning to face him.

"I don't call you every time you go on a date," Sherlock said. "I call you when I need you. Sometimes that happens to be while you're on a date. Perhaps you should be asking yourself why you go on so many dates." Sherlock pushed a few buttons on his phone as if he were texting and then slipped the phone back into his pocket. "Should we have breakfast before you go?"

"You do call me home every time I'm on a date," John insisted, scooting to get out of bed. "And you're wasting your time texting her because we're going out again tonight -- set it up yesterday before I left her," he lied.

"Oh," Sherlock said, "Will you be paying for dinner? Does this mean I should pay for lunch? I don't want to seem rude -- of course, if I can manage to actually stay for the entire meal, I'll already be a bit ahead of you in the rudeness department." He stood up from the bed and stretched. "I'll put the kettle back on. Just toast, please." He headed downstairs.

John watched him go before he went to take a quick shower. When he brought his mug, down he refilled it with fresh tea and then started to make toast.

While John was in the shower, Sherlock slipped back upstairs and grabbed John's phone. He found the woman from last night and changed her phone number to Sherlock's. He went back downstairs and made himself a cup of tea. He was at his laptop reading emails when John came down.

"I wish we'd get a new case," he said. "I thought you said your so-called blog would get us more business."

"If you stopped going on there and harassing everyone that leaves a comment, maybe they would come back," John said, giving Sherlock his toast before going back to make his own.

"Thanks," Sherlock said, smiling when John set down his plate. "Fine. I won't say anything about their absolutely stupid remarks, though why anyone would think that a comment on a post about a solved case is the right place to question my skills is beyond me." He looked over at John. "Will you be coming home between work and your date or will I have to fend for myself this evening?"

"I don't know, but I will text you either way," John said. He wrapped his toast in a napkin and grabbed his bag and coat. "See you," he called before leaving. He ate as he walked to the office.

Sherlock watched John from the window. He was enjoying the experiment, still intrigued by what he might find. After he finished his tea and toast, he stood up and stretched. He walked up to John's room and rearranged the furniture. Then he came back down and flopped onto the sofa, mindlessly flipping through the channels for a while.

John saw his patients steadily, the day just busy enough to keep him from getting bored. Half way through his lunch he started thinking about Sherlock and wondering if he was really out with his date. He doubted it, but to make sure he pulled out his phone, found her number and called her to set up the date tonight.

When Sherlock heard his phone, he looked quickly and smiled when he saw it was John. He glanced up at the clock and answered, "Yes?"

"I . . . I think I pressed the wrong contact," John said, double checking the name. It was his date's, but why had Sherlock answered?

"Very funny, John," Sherlock said, "Are you just trying to get back at me? Really, this is a bit surprising." He held his hand partly over the phone and said, "It's John," as if he were speaking to someone else, and then said, "Do you want me to pass the phone to her? Oh wait, she's shaking her head no."

John flushed and hung up the phone quickly, looking around for a moment. He set it on the bench and went back to eating. That was so strange. Had he called Sherlock? No, he was sure he picked her name.

Sherlock couldn't decide if he should feel bad about this. He was almost entirely sure that John hadn't arranged a date with this woman -- he was too angry last night for them to have really parted ways amicably. He'd leave it all for now and wait for John to return.

Just before he went back in John looked at her name again but the number didn't look right. He deleted the contact and went back to work, trying to forget the whole situation.


	2. Invading John's Space

Around five, Sherlock sent John a text.

_Are you coming home soon? SH_

_Yes. Need anything? -JW_

Sherlock thought for a moment. He already had the room rearrangement to look forward to, so perhaps he shouldn't push his luck anymore today.

_No. Unless you'd like to surprise me. SH_

There, Sherlock thought, a happy compromise.

_I'm just going to grab some dinner. Do you want anything? -JW_

_Whatever you're having is fine. SH_

So . . . no date, after all, Sherlock thought.

It was strange, really, that John had so many dates but never really a girlfriend. What was wrong with these women? John was excellent partner material -- he was kind and thoughtful. Obviously, he was handsome. Either John chose stupid women or perhaps John behaved differently when he was with the women. Maybe the experiment would give Sherlock some insight he could pass on to John that would help him be more successful.

John stopped at their usual Chinese place and picked up some food before getting back. "I'm home," he said as he hung his jacket.

Sherlock looked up. He felt glad to see John. "I'm glad you're home," Sherlock said. "Work okay?"

"Yeah," John said, moving into the kitchen. "How was your date?"

Sherlock wasn't quite sure how to answer so he went with "Meaningless." He stood up and followed John into the kitchen. "Should we have wine with dinner?" he asked, "just a small glass to help you relax?"

"I am relaxed," John said, eyeing him suspiciously. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just spent all day at work, I thought it might have been stressful," Sherlock said. "That's all. Don't have one if you don't want to.""  
  
"Um . . . sure, I'll have a glass. I'm just going to go up and change real quick," he said. He left his food boxed up as he went up to his room, pausing at the door. "Damn it, Sherlock," he grumbled, going to the closet to get into something more comfortable. When he came down, he shook his head at Sherlock. "Is that why you offered the wine? Why did you move my room around?"

"I told you I offered the wine out of kindness," Sherlock said. "I changed the room around for the same reason actually -- when I was in there this morning, I thought it might be nicer to not have the bed on an outside wall, to avoid draughts and all. Don't you like it?"

"I don't like that you were in my room alone," John said, serving himself his food and moving into the sitting room.

"That hurts a little, John," Sherlock said, following him in with his own plate in hand. "Don't you trust me?"

"That's a tricky question . . . your experiments are more important to you than I am, and I wouldn't put it past you to have sprinkled something on the mattress to test on me. Change the room around to distract me . . . " John raised his brows and looked over at him.

"I trust you, John Watson, I trust you completely," Sherlock said. "You can go into my room right now -- search through my drawers, wardrobe, whatever -- I don't have any secrets from you." He looked over at him. "And I wouldn't say my experiments are more important to me than you are." Sherlock thought about it before he added, "They are equally important." It wasn't too sentimental, but it also wasn't untrue. John was more important to him than Sherock had realised.

"Yes, well, I don't try and poison you, do I?" John smiled.

"Do you think you will be bringing up that episode when we're in the old people's home, John?" Sherlock said. "Isn't it about time you moved on from that? See what I mean about needing to relax more?"

"How can I relax when any moment could be my last?" John asked dramatically.

Sherlock frowned. If John really didn't trust Sherlock, perhaps he'd been wrong that John wanted him to take control. But why then did John give Sherlock so much control? And besides -- Sherlock really did trust John, why weren't the feelings mutual? "Do you want me to go change your room back?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John shook his head. "I was only teasing," he said. "I do trust you, Sherlock -- I mean, with important things. I do." Sherlock had actually sounded upset and really John couldn't tell if he was faking or not, but he didn't like it.

"I wish you trusted me with _all_ things," Sherlock admitted. "I know I annoy you, but . . . anyway, let's talk about something more relaxing." He tried to think of something but couldn't. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I do trust you, Sherlock, I told you I was teasing," he said. "Um . . . tell me about your date, really."

Hmmm . . . if Sherlock admitted the whole date thing was a lie, he'd look a bit hypocritical and John would probably never trust him. Plus, it was part of his experiment and he might get some valuable data from it. So he tried to tread as carefully as he could. "I'm sure it was quite similar to yours," he said casually. "Didn't you fancy her much? Is that why you decided not to go out again tonight?"

"She was all right . . . a bit boring, really." He ate some food for a bit and then looked up again. "They're all so . . . plain. I have to pick where we go, the conversation, everything. It gets old," he shrugged. "I suppose you made it through it."

"Well . . . you're right, she wasn't very interesting," Sherlock said. Okay, so the problem with John's dates wasn't John's behaviour; he was just choosing the wrong women. Which he seemed to already know. "Why do you keep dating the wrong women?" he asked. Why not? Sometimes the direct approach was best when trying to gather information.

"Well I don't know they're wrong until the date -- if I can make it through a whole one," he added, raising his brows at Sherlock again. "But even with the ones I don't -- no one wants to try again after I run off."

"If they're uninteresting, you shouldn't want to try again," Sherlock said, "don't change the subject anyway, we're talking about you, not me. So you'd like a date who has an opinion on things. Anything else you look for?"

John went back to eating again to avoid answering the question. The qualities he looked for in a date were scarily close to the things he liked about Sherlock. Smart, funny -- sometimes, anyways -- challenging, attractive . . . He shook himself from his thoughts because he was getting off topic. He realised he still had to answer and shrugged. "I just want someone who doesn't bore me," he said simply. "I blame you for that," he teased, smiling lightly. 

"Well, it's a very good quality to look for in a person," Sherlock said, smiling. "But I suppose I still don't understand why you go out with so many boring women. That's something that can usually be spotted within thirty seconds of speaking to a person. Seems foolish to set yourself up to fail."

"You're the only one that can see things in thirty seconds, Sherlock." John stood up and took his plate into the kitchen, boxing up the leftovers and washing his plate. He started the kettle and leaned on the counter to wait for the water to boil. 

Interesting -- John doesn't seem to trust himself. Daft, as he clearly can read people immediately. Is his issue about control or responsibility or both? "Well, perhaps that's enough talking for the night," Sherlock said. He picked up his laptop and swooped by to get his tea, moving towards his bedroom. "I think I'll work in my room for a while. Thanks for dinner . . . and tea," he said, before closing the door.

He sat himself down on the bed and unlocked his experiment file.

     Findings (Day One)

     Invading John's interactions with others

  * Seemed curious but not terribly bothered about SH going on 'date'
  * Mentioned previous SH interruption of dates (though seemed to already know dates would be unsuccessful -- using SH as convenient excuse?)



     Invading John's space

  * Annoyed by rearrangement of bedroom but not enough to demand it be put back



     Invading John's privacy

  * First talk about love life -- seems sure of what he is looking for in a date, but also seems to be aware he will not find it in his current choices



Sherlock stared for a bit at the notes. Was their talk really about John's privacy or is that the kind of thing normal friends would talk about? John did say that he felt funny about Sherlock being in his room, though. Perhaps John's room was key -- Sherlock did not usually go in there and, to be fair, it was the only room in the flat that was not dominated by Sherlock's things.

He stood up and stretched, then changed into his pajamas and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. He went back to his room and picked up his laptop and phone, and then went out to the sitting room. "I'd like for us to switch rooms for the night," he announced.

John was thinking about the very odd conversation they'd had. Except for the occasional deduction or snide comment, Sherlock never asked about his dates. And then what had gotten into him, comparing Sherlock to the perfect date? Well . . . they were friends after all and there's a reason for that. He supposed similar qualities would be helpful in a date as well. _You called him attractive_ , he thought. He shook his head and twisted his phrasing -- he'd simply added that to the list because that's what he wanted in a date. John was just getting ready to take his laptop to his room when Sherlock came back out again with his announcement. "Um. . . why would we switch rooms? I don't want to," he said, looking over at him suspiciously again. 

"I can assure you, John," Sherlock said, "this is simply a matter of sleeping. I will not touch or investigate anything in your room. If you don't believe me, you can stay in there with me, but," Sherlock chose his words very carefully, "I want to sleep upstairs tonight." Not need -- he was not implying this was anything more than Sherlock wanting something, something John thus far definitely wanted complete control over. How much, if any, of that control would he give up to Sherlock? He watched John's face and waited.

"I already said I trusted you . . . I just don't understand why," he said, looking towards his own room. Is that why he had moved it? Is that how he preferred it and he'd just been sure that John would agree? "I mean . . . are you doing an experiment? What's the point?" 

"There is no point, John," Sherlock clarified. "I just want to. What does it matter? It's just sleep. I'll change the sheets in the morning -- I'll change my sheets right now if you want clean ones. One night in different rooms -- what does it matter?"

"Well . . . it doesn't matter, I suppose. It's just odd, that's all." He wound up the computer cord and shrugged. "We can switch if you really want to."

"Odd is fine, I don't care about being described as odd," Sherlock said, moving towards John's room. "Good night then." He went inside but left the door open. He set his phone on the bedside table and lay his laptop on the floor before climbing into the bed.


	3. Invading John's Privacy

John took his computer into Sherlock's room, stripping down to his pants and t-shirt before climbing up into his bed. Everything smelled so strongly of Sherlock. He opened his computer to continue working on their last case. He kept taking breaks to look around the room, and it took everything in him not to get up and snoop around. 

Sherlock turned off the light in John's room. The problem was, of course, that he wasn't actually very sleepy. He leaned over and lifted his laptop up onto the bed.

     Findings (Day One)

     Additional observations

  * John responds to direct commands relatively simply after rather weak explanations
  * What SH wants matters
  * John's bed smells very much of John



Sherlock couldn't imagine the last one having much relevancy, but he had observed it so he noted it. Sherlock checked his phone. It wasn't even midnight.  
  
_Everything all right in there? SH_

John leaned off of the bed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, rolling his eyes at the message. But he also couldn't help a small smile. 

_Your bed is more comfortable than mine. We may have to make this permanent. -JW_

_Have you looked in my bottom drawer yet? SH_

_I haven't looked anywhere. I am not going to snoop. Are you snooping? -JW_

_Obviously not. I told you could trust me. SH_

_And if you don't trust me, you can come watch me. SH_

_I do trust you. Why the bottom drawer? Do you want me to look in it? -JW_

_It's up to you. You'll find a dictionary, a phone recharger and some (unused, please note) sleep medication. Possibly some coins. Go for it, if you want. SH_

_PS I've changed into your pajamas. I hope this is not a problem. SH_

_I am not going to look. -JW_

He stared at the next message for a bit and doubted it was true. Sherlock was acting so strange, and John wondered if it would be best to simply play along. 

_Good -- now I don't feel so bad wearing yours. -JW_

_I am wearing mine, John Watson. This means you are lying. Are you sure I can trust you? SH_

_You just lied about wearing mine so I hardly think you have room to judge. -JW_

_I meant I was wearing mine when I came in here. Fine. I've taken yours off. Now I'm not wearing anything. Do not blame me. You can burn the sheets in the morning. SH  
_

John stifled a laugh and shook his head.

_You're out of control today. Something has definitely gotten into you. -JW_

_Look, stop pestering me. Why aren't you asleep yet? You said my bed's comfortable. You should be asleep. SH_

_So should you. -JW_

_If you can't sleep, feel free to have a wank. I know that's what you usually do before bed. Don't let my sheets keep you from your usual habits. SH_

_That is not my usual habit! -JW_

He covered his face even though no one could see him. He did do it often, but it was hardly a habit.

 _Three to five times a week is a habit. I bet you a tenner you'll be asleep within five minutes after doing it. Do you accept the challenge? SH_  
  
Sherlock smiled. This was definitely an invasion of John's privacy, but as long as he was doing it out in the open, as long as John was fully aware of it, he didn't think he needed to feel guilty.

_I am not going to do that in your bed! I am going to sleep now. Good night. -JW_

He shut the computer and lay down, keeping the phone on his pillow and glancing at it every once in a while for a reply.

Sherlock noted John's defensiveness. Was it just because they'd never talked about anything that personal? They hadn't really. They'd never talked about anything related to sex. He wondered what John thought about Sherlock -- did he wonder why he wasn't always out on the pull like John appeared to be?

_Well, I won't force you. I just thought if you did it too, I'd feel less guilty. SH_

That threw John off and he stared at the message for a long time. Then he looked around the sheets before writing back.

_How often do you do it? -JW_

_Whenever I want to. Or need to. Not as frequently as you do._ _SH_

John looked around the bed again and imagined Sherlock in here touching himself. He flushed lightly and pushed the thought away. 

 _I don't do it_ that _often. -JW_

_How ever much you do it is fine, John. That includes tonight. SH_

Sherlock wasn't quite sure what he was doing with these texts. Obviously he was invading John's privacy, but it felt like a little more than that. However, now that he'd start this, he felt incapable of stopping until . . . until what, he wasn't quite sure, but he felt confident that he'd know when it was time to stop and, apparently, that time had yet to come.

_I am not going to have a wank in your bed. -JW_

_Can we talk about something else, please? -JW_

John covered his face with his arm again, but when he closed his eyes he saw Sherlock touching himself again, writhing under his own hand as he -- had Sherlock done this on purpose? No. . .what possible reason would he have to make John imagine him wanking? Is that what he was thinking about over there? Why was he being so odd lately?

_Of course. Do you have to work tomorrow? SH_

_No. I go every other day. -JW_

_Like I have been for a while now, Mr. Observant. -JW_

_I work every other day as well. Tonight's my night off. SH_

_Would you rather have this conversation in person? SH_

_Should I make myself busy tomorrow, then? I don't want to be in the way. -JW_

_And I'm already laying down now. I don't want to come back out to the sitting room. -JW_

_You won't be in the way. I have yet to decide my plans for tomorrow. I meant you could come sleep in here. SH_

_How would we talk in person if we switched back? -JW_

Of course that wasn't what Sherlock was suggesting, but the thought that he was asking John to share a bed with him was too unbelievable to fathom. That simply couldn't be what he was asking. Sherlock wouldn't.

_Fair point. Shall we just talk tomorrow then? Good night, John Watson. SH_

That was enough investigation for the evening. Sherlock typed his final notes into the file.

     Findings (Day One)

     Additional observations

  * John responds to direct commands relatively simply after rather weak explanations
  * What SH wants matters
  * John's bed smells very much of John
  * John defensive about masturbation (talking about)
  * John surprised/curious to find out SH masturbates
  * John did not want to share a bed with SH



Sherlock shut his computer and set it on the floor. He turned over in the bed. John's smell was all over the pillow. It was so recognisable. Pleasant as well. It was comfortable. Safe. He wondered if John could smell him in his own bed. He wondered how his own scent made John feel.

John put his phone on the bedside table and settled down for sleep. He should have known Sherlock wasn't asking to share a bed. Why did he suddenly feel so . . . disappointed? He shook his head and pulled the covers up. He was swallowed by the smell of Sherlock and he closed his eyes to it, breathing it in. He fell asleep quickly and for the first time in a long time he didn't have a single dream. He slept very comfortably and peacefully. 

In the morning, Sherlock rolled over and stretched. John's bed was just as comfortable as his own. After a few minutes he stood up and stripped the bed -- all except for the pillowcase he had slept on. He carried the sheets downstairs and dropped them near the table. He went into the bathroom.

When John woke up he was confused at first as to where he was. The light wasn't like it normally was and only when he properly looked around did he remember where he was sleeping. Right away he looked to the other side of the bed, but it was empty. He sat up and pulled himself out of bed, heading for the bathroom. He sighed when he saw the door closed and went to make tea instead. He tripped on his sheets by the table and sighed. "Why are the sheets on the ground?" John called out a bit annoyed, heading into the kitchen and starting the kettle. 

"You should bring mine out," Sherlock said, rubbing a towel through his shower-wet hair as he came out of the bathroom. "We'll give them both a wash so regardless of what either of us did on our own last night, the evidence will be gone and no one will have to think about it. Did you sleep okay? Your bed was perfectly comfortable, I don't know what you were complaining about."

John rolled his eyes at the suggestion, walking passed him to get the sheets. When he came out he scooped them all up and headed for the stairs. "I slept very well," he said. He went down and tossed the sheets into the washing machine before coming back up. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I did," Sherlock said. "I feel quite energised. I think I might go into the library to do some research today. I can bring back dinner later on if you want. Angelo's?" Sherlock watched John's face as he spoke.

John nodded, pouring the water into their mugs. "That sounds fine. There's still Chinese, though. It'll go bad."

"Don't you want to have dinner together?" Sherlock asked. "Do you have a date then? Sorry -- I shouldn't have assumed. I can eat the Chinese when I get home."

"I thought you meant you'd bring some home. We can go out . . . I mean, I can meet you if you want," John said, stumbling over his words a bit. He paused and took a breath. "I don't have a date tonight. We can go out of you want to."

Sherlock turned his eyes but not his head towards John, watching his reaction. "Meet me at the library at 7," he stated, "I'll have decided where we'll go by then."

"Okay," John said, bringing Sherlock his tea. "What are you researching?"

"Poisons," Sherlock said. "But you needn't worry -- just researching, not testing out," he added, smiling. "Will you finish the laundry for me? You have permission to go into my room or leave the sheets and I'll make the bed later."

"We'll see," John said, knowing that he would. But he didn't want to admit it because somehow it felt planned.

Sherlock finished his tea and gathered up his things. "See you at 7 then," he called as he left.


	4. Sherlock Has a Revelation

As Sherlock walked the library, he thought about the information he'd been gathering on John. Suddenly an idea hit him: was John's response to Sherlock's commands just a remnant of his military time? Despite John's injury, he had clearly enjoyed being in the Army; he occasionally talked about some of his experiences quite fondly, especially when he talked about his commander. Sherlock tried to find the file in his head that contained the man's name, but he couldn't. Perhaps he'd deleted it.

So maybe that's why John seemed to obey Sherlock's orders. Obey? Sherlock thought that was a strange word for his brain to have chosen. Regardless . . . the Army had given John excitement and danger and structure, all things that John clearly thrived on. Perhaps he also liked the fact that sometimes he didn't have to take responsibility, sometimes he didn't have to make choices.

That was surely it. The mystery of John and his control issue was no longer a mystery. Sherlock found a corner on the fourth floor of the library and began his research. However, the image of John in his uniform, saluting some nameless man, seemed to keep popping into his Sherlock's mind.

After making himself breakfast John moved the sheets into the dryer and started a new book. He checked his phone a lot more than usual, convincing himself he just didn't want to be late. When the laundry finished as well he put the clean sheets on both beds, then went to take a shower.

He took too long finding something to wear and wondered why he suddenly cared so much this time. Sherlock's odd behaviour seemed to be leaking over to him. He walked to the library and stood outside, waiting for Sherlock to come down.

After a few hours of John's image constantly interrupting him, Sherlock stopped his research. All right, brain, he thought, what are you trying to tell me? He closed his eyes and pictured John in the Army. He looked happy. He had excitement and danger and structure -- all things he sought out with Sherlock. That, he'd already established. But what else did he have? Bad food, an uncomfortable bed, travel, sunburn? John had no interest in those things now. John spent all his time working or trying to meet women.

Women. Women were absent from John's experience in the Army -- he'd once mentioned that he'd rarely even seen a woman while he was in combat. Was he just trying to make up for lost time with his constant attempts to find a girlfriend?  
  
Sherlock thought again. John did not spend _all_ his time working or trying to meet women. He also spent a big chunk of his time with Sherlock. Listening to Sherlock, watching Sherlock, chasing Sherlock, _obeying_ Sherlock.

Sherlock was not a woman.

It wasn't just the structure John craved. John liked being with men. And right now Sherlock was the man John wanted to be with.

Not that John didn't like women -- Sherlock was pretty sure he did. But what had John said when he was describing what he wanted in a date? "I just want someone who doesn't bore me and _I blame you for that_."

John wanted _him._ Interesting. Sherlock wondered if John knew, but suspected he didn't. Perhaps John had had subconscious hints -- that might be why he was always insisting he wasn't gay, why he'd been so defensive about wanking despite it being a perfectly natural thing for a man to do regardless of his sexual preference. Should Sherlock tell John what he'd deduced about him? How would that change things? Would John get all freaked out and want to leave? Sherlock did not want that. He needed to think this through.

Well, he thought, firstly, John may not actually desire sex with Sherlock -- he may just want more intimacy. It seemed to be acknowledged by most people that there was an intimacy among soldiers that was different than normal heterosexual male friendships. That sometimes included touching that men wouldn't do with other men in non-military situations. Maybe John just wanted that.

But Sherlock didn't think it was just that. Because John often seemed to deliberately avoid touching Sherlock; during the texting last night about wanking, John was awkward and almost ashamed -- not about doing it but about talking to Sherlock about doing it. John seemed to work rather hard to convince everyone that there was literally nothing intimate about their relationship. Therefore, Sherlock was pretty sure John's interest did have a sexual component and John was not entirely comfortable with that fact.

Sherlock thought about his own reaction, studying it as objectively as he could. While sex wasn't a big part of Sherlock's life, it was men he was most attracted to and John was certainly very attractive. On occasion he'd had sexual dreams about John -- that aspect of it, Sherlock did not think would be a problem.

But romance, being boyfriends, things like that, could be a problem. Sherlock was bad at that. He knew it -- no use pretending. If John wanted to be with him as they were now, except with a little shagging thrown in, that could be possible. If John wanted Sherlock to be his boyfriend . . . that might be more complicated. There was really only one way to find out.

He looked up at the clock and realised he was late. He packed up his things and rushed down. Tonight, after dinner, Sherlock would re-open this case.

He found John standing outside, looking mildly annoyed at his tardiness. "Angelo's," he said as he started them off towards the restaurant. "Did you make my bed for me?"

John hesitated before answering. "Yeah," he admitted. "You took your time," he added, pouring his hands into his pockets as he fell into step with Sherlock.

"I got more involved than I'd expected," Sherlock said. He pulled open the door and let John enter first. "Could we get a candle, please?" Sherlock asked Angelo as he led the two of them to what had become their usual table. "And wine?"

John tensed and glanced at Sherlock. "Why do we need a candle?" He asked.

"Not need, John, just want," Sherlock answered. When Angelo brought the wine, Sherlock poured himself a glass. "Some for you?" he offered John.

"Okay," he nodded, trying not to be weird about it.

Sherlock poured John a small glass. He took a quick sip of his and then looked over his menu. Of course, he'd get what he always got so he quickly shut it and, after John had ordered the lasagna, he ordered some spaghetti. "So my day was productive. How was yours?" he asked John as he fiddled with the breadsticks Angelo had left behind.

"The same. I finished the laundry, started a new book, and then came to meet you," he said. He sipped at his wine, looking at Sherlock.

"Good, I'm glad your day went well. Thank you for doing the laundry," he said. He looked over at John. He was quite handsome. Sherlock was glad they had met. "Tomorrow's a bank holiday. Does this mean you don't have to go to work -- despite your every other day schedule?"

John hadn't realised the holiday was tomorrow. "You know what? I don't think I do. I'll have to text Sarah and ask," he said.

"So we can both relax this evening and have a lazy Monday tomorrow then," Sherlock said. "With clean sheets as well." He smiled and then looked up as Angelo set down their meals.

John started mixing his meal, looking up at Sherlock again. "Yeah. We could watch a film or something," he suggested. Why had he?

"We could indeed. But first, I'd like us to talk. I've discovered a few things today I'd like your feedback on. But that can wait until we get home."

"What things?" John asked. "You can tell me now," he insisted.

"Of course I could tell you now," Sherlock said. "But I've decided not to. Brains have the most insight when they are tired or slightly intoxicated. Let's wait until we are both in that position before we look at it." He took a few bites of food. "Did you have a movie in mind or shall we just find something both of us might like, though what that might be, I have no idea."

"I don't have a film in mind -- sorry, did you say you want to get me drunk first to tell me these things? What are they?" he asked again, worried now. He put his wine glass down and even pushed it away a bit.  

"Not drunk, John," Sherlock said. "Slightly intoxicated. Relaxed. I want you . . . us . . . our minds to be relaxed. To find a different perspective. If you'd prefer, we can both stop drinking now and when we return to the flat, I'll play my violin for a few hours and perhaps that will do the trick. I wanted your help, that's all. If you're not interested, I'm disappointed, but we can forget I mentioned it." Sherlock was deliberately using his scolding voice. He put his own glass down, sat back farther in his chair and looked down at the food.

John felt his cheeks flush lightly and he mixed his food awkwardly. "You could have asked," he said. "Don't experiment on me -- you know I don't mind helping. What are you testing now?" John wondered if he was ever going to figure out when Sherlock was experimenting on him.

"I did ask, John, but you insisted I tell you now. You said you trusted me. I wish you'd behave as if you did," Sherlock said. "We'll talk about it at home. For now, we'll finish our dinner. And the wine." He tipped a little more into John's glass and the remainder into his own. "A classic film is our best choice, I think," he added.

"I do trust you but . . . I mean, you should have told me there were ulterior motives to the wine," he said. He glanced at his glass and reluctantly pulled it close again, taking another sip.

"There weren't really, when I suggested it. I just fancied some," Sherlock said lightly. "Not ulterior motives, just additional benefits. But don't let me peer pressure you into doing anything you don't want to do. Honestly." He smiled over at John. He took another bite of food, finished his wine and then pushed his plate and glass a little to the side.

"Can you give me a hint about what's going to happen at home?" He asked, draining his glass. He continued eating, not wanting this sitting in the fridge as well.

"No more drinking for you if you're going to turn into such an incredible baby about things," Sherlock said frustratedly. "John, I can tell you precisely what is going to happen at home. I am going to explain a puzzle I discovered during my research at the library. You are going to offer your insight as someone with a possibly tired, slightly intoxicated mind who has not spent his day researching at the library. Your insight may or may not be useful. And then we can watch a film. All right now? Finish your food, if you're so curious, so we can go home. You've annoyed me a bit."

"You're the one experimenting on me! Again!" John said, pushing his plate away. Why was it that, while Sherlock was the one being sneaky and lying, he was the one feeling guilty? He just barely restrained himself from apologising.

"Stop it, John," Sherlock said. "Stop it now." He leaned over the table to speak. "All I wanted to do was ask your opinion on something. How can you live in the flat being so distrustful of me all the time? Who cares if and when I do experiments that involve you -- did what happen in Dartmoor really negatively affect you? So you got scared -- I got scared as well and between those two experiences, we were able to solve the case. You are crucial to my work, John, but you've got to stop being such a child and just trust me. And trust your bloody self as well -- you're not so stupid, you pick up clues. Stop behaving like this. I picked you, John Watson. Stop overthinking and just think." He stood up from his chair. "I'm going home now. I feel compelled to take you with me as I'd rather you not be out and about in such a rattled state. Get up, please, and follow me out to a cab." He put some money down on the table and left the restaurant.

John sat there for a moment, flushed with embarrassment. His stomach was twisted and hot as he stood up. Slowly he made his way out and stood with Sherlock on the sidewalk. He stayed quiet, staring down at the ground while they waited for the cab.

Sherlock opened the door for John and then got in. As it drove them home, he reached over and touched John's hand lightly. "I'm sorry about that, John," he said. "I know I am odd and frustrating at times, but I would never, never do anything that I thought be bad for us. I am so very grateful for you." He moved his hand away and turned to look out the window. Everything he said was true, as unusual as it was.

John just nodded and kept looking out of his window. He didn't know what was happening but he decided to just keep quiet and let it play out. Hopefully everything would be revealed soon.

"Have we made up then?" Sherlock asked.

John looked over at him and nodded again. "Sure," he said and even offered him a small smile. Then he turned to the window again. Was Sherlock acting differently or was he seeing things differently? His fuzzy brain wasn't thinking clearly enough so he let it go for now.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I'm glad."


	5. Sherlock Shares His Findings

When they arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock unlocked the door and bounded up the stairs. He moved to the kitchen to turn on the kettle, but suddenly changed his mind and dug out the bottle of wine a client had given them a couple weeks back. He poured two very small glasses and carried them into the sitting room, handing one to John before sitting down in his chair. He made a little toast and said, "I'm glad that unpleasantness is over. Shall we have our talk now?"

John had only just hung his jacket when the wine was pushed into his hand. "Yeah, sure," he said, not taking a drink yet. He sat down in his own chair and watched him.

"All right then, let's get started," Sherlock said. "Oh, except let me ask that you hold all questions until the allotted question and answer period at the end." He took a quick sip of wine and then set the glass down.

"I have had a little side investigation going on, John, one I hadn't mentioned to you. This is what I'd like to get your perspective on. The main reason I hadn't mentioned it is because you were, as it turns out, its subject," he held up his hand and then moved it back and forth, "well, you and me." He swallowed and looked over John's face. The second he saw John's mouth start to open, he continued. "Surely, you're aware that I am not close to many people and yet, despite our relative newness, I've found that I view us as quite close. And I've found that I rather like that." He smiled softly. "But I think that you would like us to be even closer. I think you'd like to be more than my flatmate and colleague. I think you'd like to be more than my friend." He decided to pause and give John precisely thirty seconds to respond before he began speaking again.

"No," John shook his head, putting his glass down on the coffee table. "No -- we spoke about this already the first day we went to dinner. I'm not gay. What experiment have you been doing? Why do you say that?"

"John, I've noticed --" Sherlock started and then interrupted himself, "-- Sholto, of course!" he called, not quite realising he was saying it aloud. There was the name -- he should have trusted himself that he wouldn't have deleted something with such potential importance. He looked up at John's face, reddening slightly. "Don't, John," he explained, "There's nothing for you to feel ashamed of. Before or now. I know what I said that first night, but things have changed. We have changed. I am not averse to the idea of our being more than friends." Sherlock moved slightly in his chair. Perhaps it was the wine but suddenly he had the urge to get up and move to the sofa next to John. Suddenly he felt . . . horny. It must be the wine. But he didn't get up, not yet. He spoke again, "I think we should give it a try. Everything stays as it is, you can even chase your women if you want -- but we'll also sleep together, doing as much or as little as we want, on occasion . . . whenever we feel like it." He sat back as if he laid out a deck of cards on a table and requested that John choose one. "Shall we give it a try for say, a month, and see how it goes?" he said.

John shook his head, getting up now and pacing behind his chair. "No! Sherlock I'm not -- I'm not gay," he insisted. "I'm not . . ."

"Fine, that's fine, you're not gay, the words are irrelevant to me, to this," Sherlock said. "That should not stop us from trying."

"It should because I don't -- why do you think this?" John asked.

"Evidence obviously," Sherlock said. "Don't get upset, John. It's all there before us. Don't overthink."

"I'm not -- what evidence?" John insisted.

"The way you look at me, the way we are, the way we _belong_ together," he said. He hadn't actually thought about that last one, but it had come out anyway. "It'll be all right, John. We can trust each other."

 John shook his head. "I do trust you but I'm not . . . I'm not gay," he repeated. He fiddled with his fingers and started pacing again.

"But it's _me,_ " Sherlock said. "I think you're getting distracted by words." He stood up. "It's all right," he said softly, "Maybe you need a little time to think about this. That's fine. If this is new, you need time. But John . . . I'm right about this. I've figured it out and I'm right." He moved to the kitchen and rinsed his wine glass, refilling it with clear water. Then he walked over to John and touched his shoulder. "I'm going to go into my room now. My bed is comfortable, you said so yourself. Come into my room with me." He turned and went into his bedroom, leaving his door open.

John watched him leave, heat flooding his face and chest. So that was all the strange behaviour -- Sherlock fancied him. But did he? He had said John could still date women and they could just have sex. John didn't want a relationship like that. Did he want a relationship with Sherlock? He covered his face and rubbed it hard. Then he turned around and went up to his own room.

_I'm sorry. I can't do what you're asking me. -JW_

Would it be such an awful thing, being with Sherlock? John thought. It would be different, of course, but not necessarily bad. How did this end up happening -- why was John now considering Sherlock as a boyfriend? Regardless, that's not what Sherlock was offering, Sherlock wasn't offering to become John's boyfriend. John got into his pajamas and crawled under the covers, clutching his phone.

Sherlock looked at his phone and thought for a moment.

_How can you know without even trying? SH_

_I don't just mean the physical part. -JW_

He covered his face again as he sent the message. A relationship with Sherlock. It seemed so wild but . . . he was still warm thinking about it.

_But the other part -- don't we already have that? SH_

_What we have is the closest I've ever had. Isn't it good enough? SH_

_If we did this why would I continue trying to date women? You're the one that said you just wanted to try something physical. -JW_

_I put up with a lot of experiments, but I won't do this. I'm sorry. -JW_

_Women seem important to you. I just want to give you what you want. SH_

_'Being a woman' isn't the only criterion. -JW_

_Fine. No women. Just you and me. For one month. Should we try? SH_

_Why for one month? What happens after? -JW_

_We decide whether or not it's working. SH_

There was no answer from John.

_I'm sorry, John, perhaps I got it wrong. I won't pester you about it anymore. I'm sorry. SH_

Another experiment, John thought. But the consequences were so much worse this time. If it didn't work how could they possibly live together afterwards? He was so happy being with Sherlock that he couldn't risk it just because Sherlock wanted to see what would happen.

_I'm sorry, too. Our friendship means too much to me. -JW_

_Good night, John. SH_

Sherlock stared at the message and then hit Send. This had not gone as he had intended. He knew he was not wrong. He knew he was right. It's okay if John wasn't ready to see. Sherlock would wait. He would try to wait.

John bit his lip at the message but pushed his phone away, putting it on the pillow beside him. His own pillow smelled like Sherlock, and he pushed his face into it, breathing deeply.

He knew it would seem strange to Sherlock -- his refusing to do this -- because all he needed was one date with women and he would sleep with them if the mood was right. He'd known Sherlock a lot longer than that.

But that was the problem, it seemed. He turned and looked at the ceiling. He had gotten to know Sherlock so well, like a proper relationship, that sleeping together now would only make them closer. But what would happen in a month if Sherlock decided he didn't like physical things?

John wouldn't be able to let go so easily. Living together would be awful, and he couldn't stand having to leave. It was better this way -- being friends was working just fine for them. For a second he wondered if he'd hurt Sherlock's feelings, but he hadn't really said anything about liking John romantically and wanting more. Only that he wanted to have sex for a month. John pushed his face into the pillow again with a soft groan.

Sherlock turned over in his bed. He thought about John's sleeping here last night. He wished John was lying next to him. He stared over at the empty side of the bed. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned the experiment -- to Sherlock, it provided excellent evidence for the fact that they should be together like this. John seemed to see it differently. Or maybe he was just being stubborn, just trying to prove Sherlock wrong. Oh, nothing about this evening had gone as Sherlock had wanted it to.

It took John a long time to fall asleep and when he did he had odd dreams about being auctioned off to a room full of women and Sherlock. He woke up before he could see who won him. He wrapped his dressing gown around himself and went to the bathroom before going to make some tea. It was so early, but he could just take it up to bed with him and come down again later.

Sherlock didn't sleep very well -- it seemed as soon as he drifted off, his breath caught and he was wide awake again. He thought he heard John in the kitchen -- he heard the click of the kettle and then the sound of pouring. One cup. He picked up his phone.

_Everything all right? SH_

John saw his phone blinking when he got back, his stomach twisting violently.

_Fine. I didn't know you were up, I made tea. -JW_

_I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I think I'll stay in bed a while. SH_

Sherlock rolled over. This was not good, not good at all. In between the lines of John's text, Sherlock read 'I am uncomfortable now' and that was not good. Sherlock's phone vibrated again and he lifted it to his face.

 _Unusual poisoning at morgue. Can you two help? GL_  
  
 _I'm on my way_. SH

Sherlock stood up, his hand immediately going to his head. Too much wine. He moved to get dressed and then slipped to the bathroom to splash his face and brush his teeth. Then he got his coat and left, deliberately quietly shutting the door behind him.

When Sherlock didn't answer, John set his phone next to him, sipping at his tea while he waited for the sun to properly rise. He texted Sarah and there was in fact no work that day. When his cup had long since emptied, he got himself dressed and headed down, trying to breath through the nerves. Normal. He just had to go back to being normal. As he moved through to the kitchen he noticed Sherlock's coat was gone. His stomach turned so violently he thought he was going to be sick. So it was starting already -- how long before one of them moved out?


	6. They Try to Recover

Sherlock walked into the morgue, nodding to Molly before joining Lestrade who explained what he thought might have happened. Molly, as if on cue, brought Sherlock the paper work he needed.

"Can I take these?" he asked her.

"I printed an extra copy for you," she said.

Sherlock smiled in thanks. "I need an hour or two," he said, turning to Lestrade. "I'll email you my findings" and he headed back to the lift. As it opened, Donovan stepped out.  
  
"Where's your friend?" she asked.

Sherlock said nothing.

"Figured you out already, did he? I thought he looked too smart to fall for your tricks," she said as the doors closed.

Sherlock opened his phone but he had no reception inside the lift. When he stepped out, he sent John a text.

_I need to work at home for a couple hours. If you'd rather not see me, I'll understand. Back in fifteen minutes. SH_

He walked outside and hailed a cab.

John didn't know what to make of the message. Was that Sherlock politely telling him to go away -- that he didn't want to see John? Or was Sherlock feeling awkward about everything as well? That wasn't like him . . . normally this would be a failed experiment and that would be the end of it. John wondered if he should have explained better -- let him down more easily -- but he had told the truth and in the end, that's what mattered.

_I'm only reading so I'll be quiet. -JW_

Things had to stay the same, and he certainly didn't want to start a habit of hiding from each other.

Sherlock walked straight into the flat and to his workspace where he began pulling out notes and books. He did not say anything and hoped that neither would John. He set the papers from Molly down and began looking through his work for the information he needed.

John glanced over at Sherlock when he walked in but Sherlock didn't return it, ignoring him and sitting at his desk. That was not normal. Why couldn't Sherlock just act normally? It took everything John had to stay in his seat and stare at his book -- he couldn't focus enough to actually read it. Why are you doing this to me? he thought, what did you want from me?

"Found it," Sherlock said aloud to himself. He opened his laptop.

          To: Lestrade

          From: SH

          Re: Poison

                    Datura stramonium.

                    Was victim asthmatic? Leaves can be smoked to help spasms during asthma attacks.

                    Was victim a raver? Can produce hallucinations in stupid, bored young people.

                    Was victim evil? Occasionally used in magic. Find witch and arrest her.

                    You're welcome.

                    SH

Sherlock closed his laptop and looked over at John. "John, I think perhaps I did not make my stance clear last evening. Let me explain now. Our is the closest relationship I've had since . . . ever really. I told you from the start that I am difficult yet you still stayed and it's . . . good. However, yesterday, I began to think there was something else, something that might include a more physical intimacy. I thought that interest might come from you. Despite your previous protestations. And I realised that I would be amenable to it." He swallowed. "If I deduced incorrectly about anything, I apologise. If our relationship is not as close as I thought, I apologise, and if I misread your interest -- perhaps projecting my own onto you -- I apologise. I do not want it to be uncomfortable between us. I can deal with my own discomfort about what has happened, but I cannot deal with yours. I need you to tell me how we can make this right."

John stared at his book while Sherlock spoke, pursing his lips with nerves. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "Our friendship is the most important thing to me, Sherlock. I've never been this happy with anyone before. And . . . and yes, I have noticed that I admire qualities about you that I would admire in a potential date, but I won't -- I can't -- just test the waters. I already have a strong bond with you. Adding something physical would make it stronger and if the month ends and you decide it's not for you -- I can't. I can't have that." 

"The month was for you, well for both of us really -- you're 'not gay' and I'm not very nice . . . how could either of us commit to anything without a trial period? That's what it was, John, just a trial period -- not an experiment -- if in a month, I'd been a disappointment, you wouldn't have to try to figure out how to tell me." He looked down at his papers. "I'm sorry I brought this up -- I suppose it did start as an investigation, I'm sorry, and when I thought I'd figured us out, I guess I was just a little too pleased with myself. I'm sorry."

John looked up at him finally and licked his lips. "What did you see? What specifically did you see that made you think I wanted something physical from you?" 

"Oh Christ, fine," Sherlock said. "It didn't start out about that -- it was about . . . well, I noticed that you seemed to prefer when I make the decisions and I was just curious about that. I wondered if perhaps there was a military connection, which led me to think about about the way you've spoken about. . . basically, maybe I just got carried away. I don't know -- does it matter? Clearly, you don't prefer when I take control of things, especially if I do it as disastrously as I did last night."

John looked down at his book again. _Sholto._ John remembered Sherlock shouting it out in realisation and flushed lightly, wondering if he really knew what had gone on between the two of them. "I . . . you didn't take control last night. You just offered me an idea," he said quietly.

John did thrive under direction -- and he missed it terribly. All of these dates he was going on lacked any kind of initiative from his partners, hence why he didn't actually mind coming home when Sherlock called. He glanced up again and realised Sherlock really did know him better than anyone -- and he wasn't scared off or worried. Hell, he wanted to be included in it. 

Sherlock watched John's face -- watched him process. He thought he saw -- an acknowledgement? Maybe, maybe not. "Well . . . shall we say no more about it? Have you eaten? Should we get lunch?"

"I haven't had anything yet," John said, marveling that suddenly they could talk about food again after bordering so close to John's secrets. 

"All right, let's go out," he stood up and moved towards the door. "Let's be normal."

John rolled his eyes but smiled lightly as he grabbed his coat, following Sherlock out of the flat. "That Chinese food is really going to go bad," he said as they walked. 

"Stop obsessing about that. If you're worried about the smell, I have a feeling our fridge has held worse. If you're worried about the five quid it cost you, I'll pay for lunch today," Sherlock said, smiling lightly.

"I just don't want to waste it," John said. He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

"Fine, when we get home, I'll liquify and then freeze it. The next time you're feeling poorly, I won't have to attempt to actually cook -- I'll just warm it up and you can have it as a soup. Then everyone will be happy," Sherlock said, tapping John's arm. He opened the door to the cafe and let John walk through. "I'm not even very hungry," he said, "I just felt like we should do something -- today was supposed to be lazy and relaxed and it hasn't really felt like either yet."

"Why are we out then? We could have stayed home if you didn't want to come out," John said, sitting at a table by the window. "And that's disgusting, what you're saying about the Chinese food."

"I just said we're out because I wanted us to do something nice -- take advantage of the bank holiday and your extra day off. We're going to enjoy this day, John Watson, even if it kills us so stop being so contrary," Sherlock smiled at him. When the server came to the table, he looked up at her and said, "Today is his birthday. Could we get a piece of cake with a candle in it for him, please?" He looked over at John and made a silly face.

"It's not--" The server was already gone and John raised his brows at him. "I am not even going to ask. I like cake," he smiled. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "So what are you going to do with your day off?"

"I thought we were going to relax," he said. "I suppose after my cake I'll go back home to my book and read or something."

"Do you need me to check over your blog summary or have you already posted and allowed idiots to comment on it?"

"I've posted already. Please don't harass them -- they might have cases for you," he smiled. 

"I don't harass them, John," Sherlock said. "Pointing out flaws in logic is help, not harassment. But I won't do that either. I'll just watch you like a hawk and bring up any of your own reasoning weaknesses. I've got to do it to someone -- it's either them or you."

"Them," John said, smiling again. "At least they are strangers and you're the one that will suffer when they don't come back." 

"I don't suffer when I avoid contact with idiots," Sherlock said. The server brought a piece of cake on a small plate and set it down in front of John. Sherlock leaned over and lit the candle. "Make a wish," he said to John, "and make it a good one -- don't waste it on something ridiculous like 'I wish that Chinese food weren't being wasted.'" He looked over at John.

John threw him a look before closing his eyes and blowing out the candle. He didn't make a wish, exactly, but he found he was thinking about Sherlock the whole time. He opened his eyes again. "Want half?"

"No thank you," Sherlock said. "It's your birthday, after all. Besides I'm saving up room for that Chinese later." Sherlock felt an urge to reach over and touch John's hand, but he didn't. Instead he said, "I feel like taking a nap actually."

"Oh, well, I will be quietly reading so that's perfect," he said. 

"What are you reading?" Sherlock asked.

"Mike dropped off a medical journal the other day. He got something published so I am going to take a look," he said.

"That's good of you," Sherlock said. "Let's watch that movie later on, yeah?"

"Sure," John nodded. He finished his cake and pushed the plate back. He was glad they were getting back to normal again. 

"Let's go home, John," Sherlock said. He left some money on the table and stood up. They walked back in silence, but it was an okay silence. When they got back to the flat, Sherlock picked up his laptop and then headed to his room. "I'm going to nap now. Wake me up if anything interesting happens."

"Sure," John nodded, raising his hand in a sort of wave. He took the journal up to his own room, leaning back on the headboard as he read. He kept his phone close just in case.

Sherlock slipped out of his clothes and slid under the covers. He rested his computer on his lap and read over John's latest blog. It was good -- all the right details with only a few extra angles, which Sherlock knew John thought others would find interesting. He complained to John about romanticising things, but, in fairness, these posts were the most accurate portrayals of their cases now. There was sentiment between them, even if Sherlock didn't always acknowledge it -- or if he acknowledged it inappropriately like last night. He closed his laptop and slid it to the other side of the bed. He rolled over and reflected on the last day. He remembered being at the library -- so sure he had figured it out. He had -- he just hadn't considered the additional complications of John and his emotions. He also hadn't considered his own utter lack of clear communication when it came to feelings. Yet, wasn't it still a good thing -- knowing that they meant something to each other? That should be a good thing, and that's what Sherlock focused on as he fell asleep.

John kept glancing at his phone while he read, but there were no flirty messages like the other night. When he finished Mike's article, he browsed through the rest of the journal before becoming bored with it. He left his room and went down to heat up the Chinese, not having had a proper lunch. He took it back up to his room again, looking through the comments on his blog while he ate. He wished Sherlock would get up already so they could watch their film. Everything seemed to be okay now, as if all of that other stuff didn't even happen. He felt like he'd missed a chance, but he didn't dwell on it. Things were good like this -- why mess them up?

Sherlock dreamt of the day he and John met. All the details were the same, but something seemed different -- Sherlock _felt_ different. Sherlock _felt_. He rolled over as he woke up and stared up at the ceiling. He picked up his phone.

_I'm getting out of bed in five minutes. It would be good if a cup of tea were waiting for me. SH_

John smiled when he saw the message. He pushed the phone into his pocket and went into the kitchen to start the kettle. He washed his plate while he waited for it. 

Sherlock eventually got up. He walked out and picked up his tea, smiling at John to thank him.

"How was the article? Did it put you to sleep?" he asked.

"No, it was interesting," John said. He poured his own tea and sank into his chair. 

Sherlock sat down as well. "Did you pick a film for us?" he asked.

"No. I figured we could just find one together," he said. "Or you could pick."

"A Hitchcock. One you haven't seen. Have you seen _Rope_? If you haven't, then _Rope_ ," Sherlock said. He knew it was unlikely they could compromise -- their tastes were quite different, but Hitchcock appealed to most people.

"Okay, sure," John nodded. "I'll find it on the computer." He pulled his laptop close and started looking for it, browsing the options. "Here it is," he said, getting up to put it on the telly. 

Sherlock stood up and moved over to the sofa. He propped his feet up on the table. "Did you eat the Chinese?" he asked.

"I did," John said, moving to the sofa as well. He sat at the opposite end of the sofa. They had shared the sofa before but after their talk, it seemed a bit harder now. "You didn't really want it, did you?"

"Of course not," Sherlock said. He looked over at John and smiled. John seemed a bit awkward, and Sherlock didn't want him to be. "I'm glad things are back to normal now," he said.

"Yeah, me too," John smiled. He pulled his feet up and got more comfortable.

The movie began and Sherlock stretched himself a little lower on the sofa. About half way through, Sherlock looked over at John. "I know you don't like talking during films and since it's your birthday and all, I should respect that, but could I say something please?"

"It's not my -- " John sighed and nodded. "Of course you can."

"This film is based on real people -- two friends called Leopold and Loeb. They killed a kid, simply to see if they could, if they could commit the perfect crime. They didn't obviously -- they were young and made a stupid mistake. But I have to admit I've always found them quite fascinating. Their relationship and intelligence were partly what got them convicted . . . just an interesting intensity between them. Obviously Hitchcock changed some of their story, but still. Interesting."

John blinked at him for a moment and nodded. "I . . . yes, that's what I'm seeing," he said.

"Shame they didn't use that for something positive," Sherlock said. "Or at least do a better job at covering their tracks -- one dropped his unusual eyeglasses at the scene. Idiot. But still interesting. Leopold wrote a book from prison -- I've got it somewhere around here if you ever want to read it," Sherlock said. He glanced over at John. "I want to lie down on the sofa. My feet might touch your leg. Is that going to be a problem?"

John shook his head. "I can scoot over," he said, moving against the opposite arm of the sofa. "I won't mind -- I know you're tall," he smiled.

"Good," Sherlock said turning and sliding down a bit. His feet pressed against the outside of John's thigh. His focus went back to the film.

John smiled softly as he turned to the movie again. He put his hand down to rest on Sherlock's ankles.

It felt nice to have John touch him. Sherlock wondered what it meant. Maybe it meant nothing. Did everything have to mean something? He adjusted the cushion under his head. He remembered that he had left the pillowcase he'd slept on in John's room -- had it made John think of him? It was probably wrong to have done it, certainly wrong after the discussion had gone so badly. Still, he wondered.

John settled back against the sofa, enjoying the heat of Sherlock touching him.

Through the rest of the film, Sherlock occasionally glanced over at John who seemed settled and normal again. This was normal, wasn't it -- this closeness -- just as Sherlock had said. When the film ended, Sherlock turned onto his back and stretched his feet up into John's lap. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked.

John nodded, pushing his feet off again playfully. "Don't get carried away," he smiled.

Sherlock put his feet back. "It's comfortable," he said. "You're comfortable -- why can't I be?"

John pushed them again. "Because it's feet," he smiled.

Sherlock pulled his legs back and stood up, reaching for John's laptop. He did a quick search and then said, "Here -- let's watch this documentary of Leopold and Loeb. It's only an hour. After that, you can choose what we do." He turned to look at John. "All right?"

"Yeah, that's fine," John agreed. He started thinking about something already.

Sherlock moved to the sofa, but this time he switched so the top of his head was against John's leg. He curled his arms like a pillow and turned on his side to watch the telly. "Not feet," he said as way of explanation.

"I suppose I can live with this," John agreed. He brought his hand down again and set it on the side of his head.

John's touch felt even nicer on his head. Why was John touching him -- what had changed since last night? Sherlock tried not to analyse and just enjoyed it.

John was glad there was no protesting going on -- that Sherlock had initiated an extended comfort like this. John still felt a bit warm, but the idea of being with Sherlock as anything more than friends wasn't so terrifying now. It was just nerves about something new.

"Watch the film, please," Sherlock said. "There may be a quiz afterwards, if I think you're not paying close enough attention." He shifted his head just slightly so John's fingers slipped into his hair.

"I am watching," John protested, letting his fingers settle into the curls.

"Good," Sherlock said, quietly adding "This is nice." He went back to watching the film. "I'm glad our partnership is for good rather than evil, though I do like that one's glasses. If I ever need a pair, I might get some like those."

"Glasses would suit you," John smiled, saying it quietly.

Sherlock smiled to himself. What precisely was going on here?

John fixed his eyes on the movie again, his fingers opening and closing slowly. He didn't know when he'd started doing that, but it seemed odd to stop now.

When the film stopped, Sherlock did not move. "So what are we going to do now?" he said.

"I didn't think about anything because I was paying attention," John said. He stayed still, moving just his fingers in Sherlock's hair. This could be their new normal . . . he could get used to this. He had already -- Sherlock had said it himself. The physical stuff was the only thing missing from making this a proper relationship. His stomach flipped wildly. "Um . . . last night it sounded like you had some ideas . . ."

Interesting. Sherlock thought carefully and quickly. "Do you have to work tomorrow?"

"No," John shook his head. "My every other day still counts even when there's a holiday," he said quietly.

Sherlock sat up. "I think I might have an early night. I'm going to go take a shower. Would you do the tea so there's some ready when I get out?"

"I . . .oh," John nodded, feeling his face warm. He didn't want to now? John got up quickly and went into the kitchen, rubbing his forehead as if that would make things better. Why had Sherlock brought it up only to turn him down? Had he missed his chance? "I'd like a shower after you," he told Sherlock.

"All right, I won't be long," Sherlock said. Sherlock got into the shower, thinking as the hot water hit his face. He had indeed made a mistake yesterday, but it wasn't in his deductions. The reason he had shared his discovery with John in the way he had was good-intentioned -- he certainly hadn't wanted John to be feel shocked or pressured by changes in Sherlock's behaviour. However, Sherlock's mistake lay in forgetting his original hypothesis: that John Watson enjoyed when Sherlock Holmes took control. That was his mistake -- if John trusted Sherlock, which he said he did, of course, John would want Sherlock to take control of this. Trying to 'talk it through' presented John with too much responsibility, too many choices -- it had overwhelmed him. Sherlock should have known that.

So tonight Sherlock would take a different approach. He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off and, wrapping a towel around his waist, walked into his bedroom to put on a clean pair of pajamas. He returned the towel to the bathroom and headed to the kitchen to get his tea. "Thanks," he said to John. "I hope I wasn't too long -- there should be plenty of hot water left if you'd rather have a bath."

"Oh no, I just want a quick shower," he said. He turned the kettle off and went into the bathroom, hoping he hadn't just ruined things again. But if they could bounce back from Sherlock's straightforward approach then certainly they could from his subtle one. He washed up quickly and went up to his room to put pajamas on, bringing the towel back and brushing his teeth. When he came out again he headed for the stairs. "I'll be up reading for a bit if you need anything," he said.

"That's fine," Sherlock said. "I think I'd like to sleep in your room again tonight," he stated simply, taking a sip of tea.

"Oh. I just need to grab a few things and I'll come back down then," John said.

"You needn't bother," Sherlock said.

John paused on the steps, looking over at him. "You said you wanted an early night and I'm not tired yet," he said.

"I'm not particularly tired yet either," Sherlock said. "Stop talking please, John, and go upstairs." He started across the sitting room, bringing his tea with him.

John stood where he was, watching Sherlock move across the room. "Are you coming in here with me?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," Sherlock said, walking past John at the bottom of the steps. He went up to John's bedroom, set down his tea, pulled back the bed covers and slipped in to the bed.


	7. It Begins

John followed him quickly, shutting the door behind him. Already in pajamas he climbed into the bed as well, staying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

"I thought you were going to read," Sherlock said, pulling a small book out of his dressing gown pocket and opening it up. He snuggled down a little into the bed, recognising John's smell there.

"Oh," John said as if he'd forgotten, reaching over to his desk for the journal Mike had dropped off for him. He opened it to a random page, staring at the words.

After a little while, Sherlock, keeping his face pointed towards his book, said, "John, do you still trust me? Yes or no answer only, please."

"Yes," John said, glancing over at him from the side of the page.

"Thank you for that," Sherlock said, sincerely. "And do you think I am aware of what the word 'stop' means?"

John swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I think I'm done reading now," he closed the book and dropped it softly on the floor. He reached over and turned off the lamp on the table by that side of the bed. He lay back down, resting his head on the pillow.

John kept up the pretense for a couple more seconds before he put the journal on his bedside table. "I think I'd like to leave my lamp on," he said, slouching and then lying down properly.

"All right," Sherlock said. "I think I'd like to lie a bit closer to you." He slid his body against John's, lifting a hand to rest on John's arm.

"Okay," John said, his body warming up again.

Sherlock slowly rubbed up and down John's arm, watching John's face. He moved his leg slightly so it was lying over John's. Then he dropped his head to the pillow, closing his eyes for a moment, still rubbing John's arm. This felt good, right.

John glanced over at him, admiring him now that he wasn't looking. He didn't know what Sherlock had in mind -- if they would stay like this all night or if he had more planned. He was nervous but excited . . . whatever he was he hoped it wouldn't ruin things between them.

"Shush," Sherlock said. "I can hear you thinking. Stop overthinking, John."

"I can't help it," John said. He moved his arm so it wrapped around Sherlock, rubbing his shoulder lightly.

Sherlock's hand moved to John's cheek. "Try," he said, tipping John's chin slightly. "I want you to stop now, John. And kiss me."

John's cheeks flamed as he bent his head the rest of the way, trying not to think about it and just pressing his lips to Sherlock's. He did it hard at first before he relaxed a bit and kissed him properly.

Sherlock let his hands move to the back of John's head, holding it throughout the kiss. He felt John relax, felt the kiss relax, and enjoyed every second of it. He felt a smile creep over his face and he pulled back slightly, looking at John. "That felt nice," he said softly, moving in to kiss John again. He kept it soft but long, opening his mouth slightly to invite John's tongue.

John complied, following the speed and rhythm Sherlock had set and pushing his toungue forward to taste him. He hummed softly, bringing his hand back to Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock let his own tongue meet John's. He hummed lightly against John's mouth, his hands moving slowly up and down John's back. Eventually, he leaned forward slightly, pressing John onto his back. He opened his eyes, looking down as they continued to kiss.

As John fell onto his back, he opened his eyes and met Sherlock's. Christ, he was so beautiful. John closed his eyes again and pressed into the kiss, bringing a hand up to lace into his hair.

Sherlock shifted his weight slightly, so he almost lying on top of John. He pressed against him, their bodies touching in a way they never had. Sherlock felt something -- want -- in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

John arched against him, moaning softly as they pressed together. Heat flooded through his body, pooling at his groin.

Sherlock reached down and held onto each of John's wrists as he moved his hips ever so slightly against John's. This was good -- he did not want to rush it. He wanted both of them to enjoy every moment of what was happening while they also enjoyed the anticipation of what might come next.

John pushed into his hands, against his body, draping both of his own arms around Sherlock's neck. The kiss got harder, their lips moving more forcefully together as need took over. He moaned into Sherlock's mouth again, pressing against him.

Sherlock lifted John's hands over his John's head. "Keep these here, please," he said and then he unbuttoned John's pajama shirt. He trailed kisses from John's neck down his chest to his belly and then back up. He sucked one of John's nipples as one of his hands slid back up John's body and gripped John's neck, his fingertips touching the soft hairs at the back.

John curled his fingers around the pillow over his head to avoid reaching down and gripping Sherlock's hair. "Oh . . . Sherlock, that's . . .that feels good," he moaned softly, arching up into his mouth.

"I want you to feel good, John. I just want to make you feel good," Sherlock said against John's skin.

John brought his hand down and touched his hair, lacing his fingers into his curls softly.

"Hands up for now, John," Sherlock said, reaching to pull his hands back up. "You can touch in a few minutes."

"Hurry," John hummed, bringing his hand back up and gripping the pillow again.

"Be patient, John Watson," Sherlock said. "This is going to take all night." He went back to kissing and sucking his way across John's chest. He dropped a hand down to John's hip, gripping it as he rocked against John's body.

John sighed and tried to control his breathing. _All night._ Could he wait all night? How long had Sherlock been waiting? He pushed his hips up, trying to get what he could.

Sherlock sat up a bit and stripped off his own pajama top. He lowered himself down John's body, kissing his stomach and lower abdomen. Then he dragged his mouth over John's pajama bottoms, pressing it against John's cock, hardening underneath. He exhaled a warm breath as he moved his mouth up one side and down the other.

John squirmed as he tried to stay still, panting softly under Sherlock's hot breath. He brought his hand halfway down before remembering the rules. He gripped the pillow harder.

"Give me your hand, John," Sherlock said, reaching up for it.

John brought his hand down and gripped Sherlock's, lifting his head to have a better look at what was happening.

Sherlock slipped John's hand under the waistband of John's pajamas. "Show me what you do, show me how you like to be touched," he said, sliding himself just a little to the side.

John gripped his cock but forced himself to move slowly. His head dropped back to the pillow as he stroked.

"Think about me, John," Sherlock said, gripping the material covering John's thigh. "Imagine it's my hand."

John moaned and swiped his thumb over the tip, shoving at his pants for more room.

Sherlock reached up and tugged John's pajamas off, along with his pants. "Put your hand back over your head now," he said. "Let me try." He wrapped his long fingers around John's cock and began stroking, using the same rhythm John had used.

John lifted his hands and whimpered softly when Sherlock touched him. Never had he imagined something so simple would make him feel so good. "Good . . .Sherlock . . ." he moaned softly.

Sherlock kept his hand moving. He had imagined John doing this to himself and now it was Sherlock who was doing it to John. He leaned over and kissed the top of John's thigh, swirling his tongue around the skin he had never touched before. Then he moved and let his tongue cover the tip of John's cock as his hand moved over it.

John pushed his hips up, gripping the pillow harder as he fought to stay still. His mouth was so close. "Please . . . " he moaned. "Sherlock . . .please . . ."

Sherlock slipped John's cock into his mouth, holding his lips and tongue softly against it as he sank down. He moved back up again, slowly, lightly, making it wet and warm. His hand moved between John's legs, holding and then lightly pulling on his balls.

"Fucking hell," John breathed, lifting his head again to look down. "You're . . .you're so . . . beautiful," he murmured before his head fell back onto the pillow again. He brought his hand down and lightly touched Sherlock's hair, just to feel him -- to feel more of him. 

Sherlock lifted his head, away from John's body. "You're impatient to touch, are you? All right then," Sherlock said, moving to John's side. He slipped off his pajama bottoms. "Take off your shirt and then turn on your side to face me."

John wished he could have taken it back, humming with disappointment as Sherlock pulled away. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, turning on his side. "I just . . . I can hardly believe it," he said, gazing at Sherlock. His eyes traced his face and his lovely mouth before meeting his eyes again.

"Don't be sorry," Sherlock said, leaning in and kissing him. "I want you to touch me. We have lots of time, John." He slid his hand down John's arm and held his hand. He led it to his own cock, already hard and leaking. "Use your hand on me, like you do to yourself." He moved his mouth to John's neck and starting sucking on the skin.

John gripped a bit tightly and stroked slowly, smearing the precome so he could move his hand easily. He tried to look down, wanting to see his own hand against such an intimate part of Sherlock. He couldn't stop releasing small moans and sighs.

"It's good, John," Sherlock moaned softly. "It feels good." He sucked harder on John's neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and nipping it softly.

"I really . . . like touching you," John whispered, twisting his hand now as he moved up and down. "I like -- I like this."

"Good, John, I'm glad we tried it," Sherlock said. He closed his eyes and dropped his head to the pillow, just enjoying the touch. He hadn't been touched -- hadn't even really desired it -- for so long, but now it was John and it was even more fantastic than he could have imagined.

John hoped this was more than just trying it but he didn't mention it now. When Sherlock let his head fall back, John moved forward and kissed his neck, sucking and nipping softly as he stroked faster. 

Sherlock could feel the tension building in him and part of him just wanted to let go, to let John's hand make him come. But he also wanted their first night together to last as long as it could. "Stop now," he said softly, instinctively pulling back his hips. "I need to calm down a little. I don't want it to end yet." He lay flat on his back, breathing deeply. He slid his arm under John and pulled him closer. "Do you have any condoms?" he whispered.

John let go reluctantly, draping his arm over Sherlock's chest as he moved closer to him. At least they were still touching -- he hadn't realised how much he liked that, how much he needed it. "I do," he nodded, pointing to the table on Sherlock's side. 

"Good to know," Sherlock said. He sat up a little. "I want to see you -- I want to see your whole body." He looked John over, lifting a hand to trace the muscles on John's chest. He leaned down and kissed him there. Then his eyes and hand moved to John's stomach and he placed a kiss there. He continued all the way down John's body to his ankles. "Turn over, please," he asked and then moved back up his body -- looking, touching, and kissing.

John felt his face flush, closing his eyes as he marveled at each kiss. He was always in that position, discovering new bodies while his own was neglected, women avoiding his scars . . . sure, there were some good dates mixed in there but this sort of attention was hard to come by. For the first time he didn't know what to make of it, and he wished he could fully return it. 

When Sherlock got to the top of John's shoulders, he lifted his leg and straddled John's hips. He put his hands on the back of John's neck and ran them up into John's hair, lightly scratching the scalp with his fingernails. He ran them back down again and then dropped his head down to the side of John's, sucking his earlobe into his mouth. "You're so sexy," Sherlock said. "I regret not touching you sooner."

John turned and tried to find his mouth, wanting to kiss him, to taste him again. It was hard, twisting his body to try and turn around with the way Sherlock was holding him. "We have to make up for it now," he murmured, smiling softly. 

Sherlock moved to John's side. "When I was five years old, I got an unusual injury. There's a scar on my skin. Why don't you try to find it?"

John smiled, moving to climb on top of him. When he straddled his hips comfortably he started at Sherlock's shoulder, using his mouth as much as his eyes. "What happened?" he asked, kissing across his chest and then downwards. He sucked on each nipple, weaved his way along his stomach, very slowly making his way downwards. 

"Snake bite," Sherlock said. "Not venomous." He lifted his hands and rested them on John's thighs. He moaned softly as John's mouth covered him.

John hadn't seen any kind of mark yet so he continued, curving around his hips and moving down his left leg. Nothing. As he started moving up Sherlock's right leg he paused and smiled, nipping at the two small, white dots halfway up his shin. "There," he said, kissing the spot. 

"Are you going to stop looking now that you've found it?" Sherlock asked softly.

John shook his head, kissing his way upwards again. He curved around Sherlock's hip, came up top his lower belly, and then started stroking him slowly.

"Go slow," Sherlock whispered. "I don't want to worry about lasting."

John knew that wouldn't be a problem as he was in new territory now. He flicked his tongue over the tip, tasting him before sucking the head in.

"John," Sherlock exhaled. "Fuck . . . that feels good." He lifted his head to look down and watch. "Go slow . . . do you taste me?"

John nodded, keeping his movement just around the head, sucking and licking up what was dripping out.

"You're responsible for that," Sherlock said, still watching. "God, you're so handsome, John. Don't stop."

John took a bit more, sucking Sherlock into his mouth, coming back up again with small moans.

"All of it, John," Sherlock said, "just once -- try. Try to swallow me." Sherlock shifted his legs so he could pull himself back if he needed to.

John swallowed and moved lower, then halfway up, and then down to the base. His nose bumped Sherlock's groin as he swallowed so he wouldn't gag. Finally he came up again, panting softly. He glanced at Sherlock and did it again. 

"John, that's good . . . it's good," Sherlock whispered. He reached down to touch John's shoulder. "Thank you, but I think what I've discovered is if you do it again, you'll make me come. Just your tongue now." He lay back against the pillow and lifted a hand to his hair, trying to think of nothing but John's mouth on his body.

John pulled off and licked up his shaft, swirling the head and licking up the sides.

"John," Sherlock moaned softly. He let his other hand move to John's head, tangling his fingers in his hair. He shifted his legs, moving one to rest over John's.

John continued, sucking only his head as he licked the rest, even down to lick and suck his balls. It was different, but Sherlock's sounds made it good.

Suddenly Sherlock was really close to coming, so he pulled himself back gently and reached down, trying to pull John towards him. "Come here," he said, "I need to calm down again."

John climbed back up the bed laying beside him. His own cock was leaking and aching.

Sherlock slid his arms around John, holding his tightly, as he kissed John's mouth. It was a soft kiss, almost a romantic one -- though Sherlock would have never chosen that word -- despite the heat that erupted between them as their cocks pressed together.

John reached down and touched himself lightly, just for a little relief as they kissed.

"What do you want to do next, John?" Sherlock said in between kisses.

"Anything -- I love touching you so much . . ." John murmured, kissing him harder.

Sherlock pushed John onto his back again and slid down his body. He situated himself between John's legs. He licked John's cock again, getting it wet, and then said, "Use your hand again. I like watching you." He lowered himself further, sucking John's balls into mouth before licking across the crease between John's legs. He sucked one of his fingers into his mouth to slick it and then brushed it against John's hole, teasingly.

"I . . . fuck Sherlock . . . I'm too close," John gasped, wrapping his fingers around himself and stroking very slowly.

"We can stop or I can keep going and you can show me what you look like when you come," Sherlock said, looking up at John as he continued to tease him with his wet finger. "You decide."

"I want . . . ah . . .I want you to keep going," he said, letting go of his cock so he could relax. It was hard with Sherlock touching him. "You'll see that . . . and I want to see this."

Sherlock leaned over and licked John's cock as he slowly pushed a slick finger inside. He felt John's muscle tighten around him. He shifted his body so he reached John's mouth to kiss him. "Inside," he said softly before kissing his mouth again as he began to very slowly pump his finger.

"Yes," John breathed. "Inside . . .yes . . . feels good," he corrected.

Sherlock curled his finger slightly, brushing past John's prostate. "Touch yourself again, I want you to come now," he purred into John's ear before moving down and sucking on John's nipple.

John whimpered and began to stroke himself. "I want . . .want you," he mumbled, pushing against Sherlock's hand. John bit his lip hard.

"Show me," Sherlock moaned. "Show me something I've not seen before." He sucked harder, pushed harder, rocking his own body with the rhythm of John's hand.

"Fuck," John moaned, the building pressure finally breaking. He called out for Sherlock, writhing and bucking as he came all over himself.

"John," Sherlock called his name as well. He moved to wrap his arms around him, squeezing him close, feeling the waves move through John and his heart pound.

John arched into Sherlock, still pumping as the waves subsided. He was moaning and panting heavily, burying into his shoulder. 

Sherlock whispered, "I'm here," before pressing a kiss onto the top of John's head. "Thank you for sharing that with me," he added.

"You -- how're you?" he murmured, kissing his shoulder and neck. 

"Aching," Sherlock admitted, smiling.

"Tell me . . . tell me what you want," he said against his skin, sucking and nipping softly. 

"Your hand on my cock and your mouth on my neck," Sherlock said, squeezing John's arm.

John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock, holding tightly as he moved his hand up and down quickly. He sucked harder and bit at Sherlock's neck, moaning and breathing hard against him. 

"Are you glad we've done this?" Sherlock managed to say, his breath already growing rough with the pressure building inside him. "Tell me if you are."

John nodded, biting and sucking and kissing up behind his ear. "I've never felt so . . . so good," he whispered against his ear. 

"That's all I wanted, John," Sherlock said, "for us to be good." He closed his eyes and let the electricity move through him and his hips rocked hard against John's, pumping into his hand, and then finally it was too much and he gasped loudly and said John's name as his body jerked and let go, spraying over John's belly. Sherlock's head dropped to the pillow as one more convulsion went through him and then he lay silently for a moment. He opened his eyes and looked over at John. "Fuck," he exhaled, a smile coming to his face.

John lay on his back beside Sherlock, drawing his finger through all of the mess on his belly. "That was fantastic," he said. 

Sherlock let out a little laugh. "Sorry for the mess," Sherlock said. "We've made a bit of a mess of your bed -- with its clean sheets and everything."

John smiled and shook his head. "No, I don't mind." He dropped his hand and turned to look at Sherlock. "It's a good mess."

Sherlock leaned over and reached for his pajama shirt. He passed it to John. "I'm sleepy now," he admitted.

"I don't . . . I don't want to clean up yet," he said quietly, dropping the shirt on the ground. "I'll shower later." He reached over and pet Sherlock's hair. "Thank you," he whispered. 

"For what? You were pretty much responsible for both of our messes," Sherlock said. "You're quite good at that business," he added, smiling.

"I liked when you . . . how we did it," he said, fingers still playing in Sherlock's hair.

"How we did what, John? Say properly so I know -- I only want us to do things you like," he looked over at John with soft eyes.

"I want to do things you like, too. But I think I am in . . .," John picked at the bedsheet, nervous to say when he was really feeling at the moment. So he didn't say it. Instead, he said, "I liked when you ordered me around."

Sherlock smiled. "I wouldn't say 'ordered around' really," he said softly. "I just let you rest your overthinking little head for a bit." He leaned over and kissed John's cheek. "Whatever you need, John, I want to give it to you. But I know needs change even as moods change. We can be however you want whenever you want. I know what stop means. I know what 'Sherlock, don't order me around tonight' means. You can trust me."

"I know, Sherlock. I do," he said. He remembered what he almost said and flushed lightly. "What do you like?"

"Based on this evening . . . I like the things you do with your mouth and I like watching you," Sherlock said, all the pictures playing back over in his head.

"I've never done that before . . .it was good, then?" He smiled.

Sherlock smiled back, not totally believing him. "Yes, it was, John Watson," Sherlock said. "It was very good." He reached over and squeezed his hand. "I liked everything you did with your mouth."

John smiled. "Are we going to do it again?"

"Right now, you mean? Or do you just mean ever?" Sherlock said, sitting up just a bit.

"Just in general . . . I mean, you wanted to try and we did and . . .and it was good, right?"

"John, I told you I didn't mean try like an experiment," Sherlock said, grabbing onto his arm. "It was more than good, it -- meant something, and yes, I'd like to keep doing it."

John smiled in relief. "Me too, Sherlock."

"But probably not again tonight. Unlike some people in this bed, I'm a little out of practice -- I definitely need to recover and that's probably going to look a lot like sleep," Sherlock snuggled down a little.

"I know not tonight. I just meant . . . well, you know what I meant. I'll stop talking now," he said, settling down more comfortably.

"Please do," Sherlock said, pulling a face at John. "Just get by me. I want to fall asleep pressed against you."

John turned on his side and pressed up against him, smiling as Sherlock's arm came around him. He took hold of Sherlock's hand and closed his eyes. 

Sherlock fell asleep rather easily. He woke up half way through the night -- his arm feeling numb -- so he slipped it from under John, who had now turned away from him. Sherlock curled to spoon him and was soon back to sleep.

John slept very comfortably through the night, constantly drawn to Sherlock and keeping close to him. He hadn't slept with another person in such a long time -- never with someone he couldn't stop touching -- and it was the best night of sleep he'd ever had. 


	8. The Day After

When Sherlock woke up properly, he realised he was still curled around John and it was nice. Nice to wake up next to someone -- not just someone, someone who meant so much to him. He put a kiss on the back of John's neck. "John," he said softly, "it's morning . . . do you remember what we did last night?"

John hummed and nodded, keeping his eyes closed as he tried to wake up properly. He was warm and comfortable and not interested for moving away from that. 

Sherlock pressed his hips against John's back. "I think I might be getting an erection, John," he said quietly.

John smiled sleepily. "Oh? We should take care of that," he murmured.

"Probably," Sherlock said. "Stay still for a minute." He began rubbing himself against John, making little moans. He was kind of teasing, but it actually felt quite nice.

"Hey . . . I want to be included, not just your toy," he teased. 

"Well, no one's stopping you, lazy doctor," Sherlock said. "Turn over and give me some attention."

John shifted and turned around, kissing Sherlock's mouth hard. He pressed against him, humming softly as he woke up properly. 

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and squeezed him close. "This is nice," he said. "Good morning, John Watson."

John smiled into the kiss, reaching down to stroke Sherlock slowly. "I'd like to continue where we left off," he admitted. 

Sherlock let himself relax into John's touch, just humming lightly in agreement. He spread his hands on John's back and moved them across his shoulders.

John kept his hand moving slow and light, matching their kissing.

"I can't promise this is going to happen every morning, you know," Sherlock said. "I have no idea how often this kind of thing might happen." This was a bit unusual -- for him to have such an intense urge for an extended period. At the moment, Sherlock would be happy if the two of them never left John's bed. But perhaps his level of desire would return to normal, which Sherlock imagined to be well below John's. "I just . . . I don't want to let you down, John."

John nodded. "I know . . . but this is nice," he said..

"It's very nice," Sherlock said, closing his eyes for a few minutes and concentrating on John's touch. He rocked his hips a bit, bucking into John's hand. "You know how to make me feel good."

John moved and climbed onto him, straddling his hips and still stroking slowly. "Do you touch yourself like this? Slow and soft?"

"Sometimes," Sherlock said. "I'll be honest -- I don't do it very often and when I do, it's not very . . . romantic. Basically, I just get the job done. That feels good, though -- I like it like that. But it's likely you might increase your pressure and speed relatively soon."

John was getting harder and harder, his cock coming up to his own belly. "I will," John assured him. "I just want you to feel good, Sherlock."

Sherlock slipped one of his hands to John's cock, beginning to stroke it in the same rhythm. "You make me feel good," he said, kissing John's neck softly.

"Good," John smiled, rolling his hips a bit into his hand.

"I've had sex dreams about you," Sherlock said. "Before I mean . . . but I hadn't thought we'd do this." The speed and intensity of his hand and hip movement increased.

"What did you see?" John asked, meeting his eyes.

"We were coming home from a case . . . in a cab and I kissed you and it was like we weren't in the cab anymore, we were in the flat on the sofa and we were . . . having sex," Sherlock said, pressing his face into John's shoulder.

John smiled as his cheeks flushed lightly. "How?" He asked quietly.

"I was lying on top of you . . ." Sherlock said, not sure how much he should say. "We still had our clothes on, well . . . mostly." It was strange how vividly he remembered the dream -- things like that usually were quickly deleted.

John kissed his neck, grabbing both of their cocks now and stroking faster. "Tell me . . ." he whispered.

Sherlock closed his eyes, still pressing his head against John. "I pushed you onto the sofa and pulled your jeans off. I stayed dressed but just undid my trousers and fucked you right there. It wasn't very realistic, I suppose, but dreams usually aren't, aren't they? But it was sexy." He thought about it again, thought about having sex with John as John stroked their cocks -- that was real, not a dream.

John moaned softly and bit his lip, "That sounds good." The way he said it made it so much better.

"Let me do that to you later. We can go out and come back and we can do that on the sofa," Sherlock said, now really rocking against John. "Please say you'll let me, " he said, realising he was so close to the edge.

John nodded. "Yes . . . Sherlock, yes, please," he moaned.

"John --" Sherlock moaned against John's skin. "Don't stop . . . I'm going to come." His whole body tightened and froze momentarily as his cock jerked against John's. "God," he exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

John nipped at his skin. "I want you to fuck me," he repeated into Sherlock's ear, letting go of his own cock to stroke him faster.

John's voice was enough to make Sherlock explode and he felt the wetness over his belly and John's hand. "John," he called, reaching down to hold onto John's hand. He moved both their hands to John's cock and tried to stroke him. "John," he said again, trying to catch his breathe.

"M'close," John assured quietly, dropping his hands beside Sherlock so he could buck into his hand.

"Show me," Sherlock said, sucking on John's neck. "Come on, John, show me."

John swore and came onto his hand and belly, calling out for him and groaning into his neck. The release, especially by Sherlock, felt incredible.

"God, John Watson," Sherlock said. "Why weren't we doing this from Day One?" He squeezed his arms around him. "You're so sexy," he added before pulling back a little and looking down at their bellies. "Messy but sexy." He smiled and kissed John's cheek.

John smiled. "I really do need to shower now," he murmured, laying against him.

"Me too," Sherlock said. "Separate or together?"

John smiled. "Will anything get done if we're together?"

"No, probably not," Sherlock said, smiling. He slid out of bed quickly. "I'll go first which means you're responsible for making the tea. If you do, I'll treat you to lunch." He rushed out of the room naked and headed down to the bathroom. He turned on the hot water and stepped into it. He washed his whole body, handling his cock a little gingerly -- it wasn't sore, but it was . . . tired. Or maybe every inch of Sherlock's body was still just surprised about what had happened between John and him in the last twelve hours. He stepped out of the shower and dried himself and then brushed his teeth before heading into his bedroom and getting dressed. He came back into the kitchen and smiled at John. "Your turn," he said.

John was wearing Sherlock's dressing gown, only just having poured the hot water. He kissed Sherlock's cheek before hurrying to shower as well. As he washed he remembered where Sherlock's finger had been and he flushed, smiling stupidly. When he got out, he brushed his teeth and went up to his room to change. "Ready?" he asked when he came down again.

"Let's go," Sherlock said. "Let's just go to the cafe that way we can breakfast or lunch."

"Oh good," John smiled. "I love breakfast food."

"I know," Sherlock said. "But we'll skip the birthday candle this time, yeah?" He smiled over at John as they walked.

John grinned. "If we have to," he sighed. 

Sherlock held the door open for John who led them to the same table as yesterday. Once they ordered, Sherlock said, "I'd like to make a quick stop at Boots on the way back, okay?"  
  
"Oh, alright," John said. "It's nice out so I don't mind the detour." 

As they ate, Sherlock thought about the changes that had taken place since they last ate here. It was all unusual, but he didn't regret any of it. Obviously, there was no way he could be sure that he'd be able to make John as happy as he wanted to, but right now, he wouldn't think of that. He would just think of how nice it all felt. He looked up at John and smiled.

John smiled back, a bit caught off guard with how truly lovely Sherlock was. "What are you thinking about?" he asked. He could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. 

"How strange and lovely this is," Sherlock said.

John laughed softly. "Me too," he admitted. 

"Do you regret it yet?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "Why would I? Is that what you're waiting for?"

"It's not what I want," Sherlock said, "but, of course, it's something in the back of my mind. Be fair, John, you've invested quite a bit of a time in insisting you're not interested . . . in this kind of business." He glanced up. "I don't want you to regret it. I don't," he said softly.

"Well . . . that's because we had to live and work together and if I said I was interested it would make things awkward. I didn't know you felt the same." He looked up and sighed. "I'm not going to pretend I have been head over heels since the beginning, but I have thought about it. A blind man could see how handsome you are. And the more I got to know you . . ." he trailed off and shrugged. "I like you a lot."

Sherlock reached over and quickly touched John's hand. "Just promise you'll say if you change your mind," he said quietly.

John nodded. "I will. You too, okay?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "You're handsome," he added before finishing up his toast.

John flushed at the sudden compliment, grinning at him. "That's not fair," he laughed. 

"Shush, do you always have to talk so much?" Sherlock said, laughing a little. He finished as his tea as he waited for John to get done eating.

"I do when there's nothing else to occupy my mouth," he said quietly, meeting Sherlock's gaze and he pushed his plate away. 

"Pervert," Sherlock said. "Let's go. I'm in a hurry to get home." He stood up and threw some money on the table and then pulled John out the door. They walked into Boots and Sherlock went directly to a back aisle, picking up a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. As they queued he said to John, "Need anything else?"

John shook his head. "I am also in a hurry to get home. I've been practising my deductions," he smiled. 

"And what do you mean by that, John Watson?" Sherlock asked.

"Just that I've been practising, that's all," he grinned.

"And what have you deduced?" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow.

"We're going to do something fun at home," he said.

"Excellently deduced," Sherlock said. "You must have studied under a genius." He paid for his items and then led John out the door.

"Well, he's all right," John shrugged.

Sherlock stepped into the road and hailed a cab. He opened the door for John and told the driver, "221 Baker Street."  
  
"Baker Street? That's like a three minute walk from here," the driver said.

"I am aware of its location," Sherlock said in return. He looked over and smiled at John.

John smiled back, shaking his head lightly as he laughed. He felt giddy like a teenager again. 

When the cab turned the corner, Sherlock leaned over and pulled John's head towards him, kissing his mouth hard. He didn't break the kiss until the cab pulled up to the flat. He threw the driver some money and then rushed out, pulling John by the hand towards their door.

John was a bit flushed from kissing in front of the driver, but mostly because of the heat of that kiss. He was already feeling it in his lower belly and groin, standing close to Sherlock as they unlocked the door. Once inside he kicked it closed behind him, leaning up to kiss Sherlock as he took his jacket off. 

Sherlock pulled John towards him, lifting his hands to John's chin and kissing his mouth softly. The kiss turned more passionate and then urgent and Sherlock's hands dropped to John's lower back which he pulled roughly towards his own hips. Sherlock pushed into John, sliding one hand from John's back to his groin so both their cocks pressed against it as they began to rock into John.

John moaned into his mouth, bucking his hips and pressing against him. He was properly hard now, clutching at him desperately. "Sherlock . . . you feel so . . . so good," he breathed. "So good . . ."

Sherlock lifted his hand to John's belt and pulled it open. He unzipped John's jeans and slid his hand inside, wrapping his fingers around John's cock. He dropped his head and sucked at John's neck.

John pushed into his hand, grasping his upper arms tightly. When he got a few deep breaths and cleared his head he moved his own hands down to work at Sherlock's trousers, trying to get them off. 

Sherlock pulled his hips back. "Mine stay on," he said devilishly. He started to move John backwards towards the sofa. He helped him lie down and then stood himself up next to the sofa. He pulled the condoms and lube from his coat pocket and set them on the table. Then he took off his coat and crawled up on to the sofa, moving himself between John's legs. He pulled John's jeans and pants all the way off and then took John's cock in one hand and lowered his mouth over him, swirling his tongue all around the tip.

John closed his eyes and remembered what Sherlock had said about his fantasy -- his clothes staying on while he fucked John. He moaned loudly and lifted his head to look down at Sherlock. He touched his hair, lacing his fingers into the curls. 

Sherlock sucked John's cock all the way into his mouth, still using his tongue to paint stripes over it. He was already hard himself, and everything felt urgent, like the dream. He grabbed one of John's hands and moved it to John's cock. "Slow for now," he said as he dropped lower and licked John's balls and between his legs. He reached over to grab the lube and poured some into his hand. He rubbed John's inner thighs and then between his legs, using his other hand to push them further apart. He allowed his fingers to brush over John's hole. He was trying to maintain the dream's rush without going too fast for John.

John nodded, stroking himself slowly as he kept his head up to watch Sherlock. His hand was making everything everything hot and wet. "Sherlock," he breathed, biting at his lip. He spread his legs wider, one hitting the back of the sofa and the other foot almost falling off of it. 

"You can say stop at anytime, John," Sherlock whispered. In the dream John wanted to do this -- it had to be like the dream: if John didn't want to, Sherlock would stop. "Can I be inside?" he asked, looking up at John's face.

John nodded, pushing his body towards his hand as he remembered the other night. "Please, Sherlock . . ." It was need that made him say Sherlock's name, not nerves.

Sherlock smiled softly. "You're still allowed to change your mind -- just say," he said, dropping to press his cheek against John's hand still moving slowly on his cock. He pushed a slick finger slowly inside John. John's body held it tightly, and Sherlock immediately felt his own cock twitch. He began pumping his finger slowly into John. "God," he moaned, "I want you to feel good."

A small sound escaped his throat as Sherlock's finger went into him. He released the moan as breathed quickly to relax. "You make me feel good," he moaned softly. He continued moving his hand slowly on his cock, leaking now.

John's voice went straight to Sherlock's cock. "Breathe deeply, relax your body," he panted as he pushed a second finger in. "I want you so much . . ." he said, dropping his head down again, kissing John's belly and the tops of his thighs.

"Want you too," John moaned, squirming a bit as he got used to the feeling of more. "Want you . . . to fuck me," he breathed.

"Filthy mouth," Sherlock said, looking up and smiling. "Be patient." Sherlock separated his fingers a bit, stretching John. He needed to know John was ready, he needed to not have to worry. He shifted himself slightly so that he could rub himself against John's legs.

"M'trying," he said, managing to sigh dramatically. The more used to the feeling he got, the easier it was to move passed it and play the game. "Don't you want to hear it? Those words?"

"Of course, I do," Sherlock said, smiling. After a few minutes, he slipped his fingers from John and lifted himself up onto his knees. He reached for the lube and a condom. He unbutton his trousers and pulled them open, to free his hard cock. He used one hand to stroke himself slowly, looking directly into John's eyes as he did. Then he rolled on a condom and poured more lube into his hand, slicking everything. "I want to fuck you now," he said softly, bending over. He set one hand next to John's shoulder and leaned on it. With his other hand, he held himself, lining up, and slowly pressing into John. "Fuck," he gasped at the feeling. "John, you feel so good."

"God, Sherlock!" John called out, gripping at his arms again. "That's so . . . God," he groaned again. He'd never felt anything like it before.

Sherlock pushed slowly all the way inside John. "Can I move? I need to move," he said in a hushed voice, dropping his mouth to John's ear. He sucked lightly on the lobe.

John didn't answer right away, taking deep, quick breaths. When he was used to it, ready for more, he nodded. "Fuck me," he said again.

Sherlock started slowly, just sliding himself in and almost all the way out of John. But the pressure was almost too much and soon his hips were pushing more freely. He dropped his other arm and slipped his hand under John's head to grip his hair. "God, it feels good . . . better than . . . anything," he moaned softly into John's ear.

John nodded, moaning with every push into his body. "Sherlock . . . it's . . . yes . . . so, so good," he panted, moving up to meet his hips.

Sherlock said, "Make yourself come, John, I want us to come together, and I'm so close." He kept his hips thrusting as he covered John's ear and neck with kisses and bites.

"Me too..." John panted, stroking fast and hard. The rhythm of Sherlock filling him, pushing into his body match his hand. "I'm -- fuck, Sherlock -- I'm coming." And then he let go, coming all over himself and his hand, shouting for Sherlock as his body squeezed around him.

The way John squeezed him -- it was like his whole body was holding Sherlock -- sent him over the edge and with two more hard thrusts, Sherlock exploded, pushing deep into John. His head dropped onto the sofa next to John's and he just stayed still as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

"God . . . Sherlock . . ." John panted. He held him tightly, chest having underneath him.

"Are you okay, John?" Sherlock said, doing his best to breathe normally. "I didn't want to hurt you . . . are you okay?" Sherlock really had no idea whether or not John had done this before, and, in all honesty, he didn't want to know. But it had been a long time since Sherlock had, and it just all of a sudden felt quite a big thing to have done, and he hoped John was all right with all of it.

John nodded into his shoulder. "M'okay. You didn't -- it was good Sherlock . . ." The weight of what they had done settled on him and he kissed Sherlock's shoulder. "Good," he repeated quietly.

"Good," Sherlock said as well. He lifted up a bit and kissed John's forehead. He reached down to the hold the condom as he slid out of John. "Sorry," he said quickly as he pulled off the condom, tied it and threw it in the Boots bag. He grabbed John's trousers and handed them to him as he buttoned up his own. He sat back on the sofa at John's feet, stroking his ankles lightly. "It was like what I dreamt," he said, looking over and smiling. "Thank you."

"It'll be better next time," John promised as he got dressed. "Next time you can go harder," he smiled.

"John," Sherlock said softly, "it was perfect." He leaned over and gave him a kiss.

"I know," he smiled. "And it will be next time, too."

"And what about . . . the other way? Do you want to do that, too?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "We can try everything," he smiled. "I want you to feel good. I want to share dreams like this and be able to do them with you."

"Have you had dreams?" Sherlock said, lifting an eyebrow. "Be honest . . . it's okay if you haven't."

"I didn't before, but I am thinking now," he smiled. "I liked the sofa, but I think it chairs will be fun too."

"Hmmm . . ." Sherlock said. "I might not be as limber as you assume I am." He smiled and reached over and rested his hand on John's leg. "I should go check the email -- maybe we've got a case." But he didn't make a move to get up yet.

John held on to his comment for a moment to enjoy the few seconds of Sherlock not moving yet. "Have you developed psychic powers now?" he teased.

"Possibly," Sherlock said, turning towards John. "I predict . . . you will be walking quite gingerly for the next few hours." He pinched John's leg and then dragged himself up off the sofa, moving to his desk and opening his laptop.

"I could have told you that," he smiled. He winced as he got up to get himself a bottle of water, rubbing Sherlock's hair as he passed.

"Can you put the kettle on?" Sherlock asked, skimming through the emails.

"Yeah," John said, turning back to do that. He leaned on the counter, thinking about what they had done.


	9. The Trial Period

"Here's something," Sherlock said. He read the email aloud to John. "Not too promising really, but it's something, I guess. Should I see if she can come round tomorrow? No, you're at work -- the following day then?"  
  
"Perfect," John smiled. He brought over Sherlock's tea and sat in his own chair instead.

Sherlock typed up a quick response, finished looking over the rest of the messages and then closed up his laptop. He moved to the sofa and turned on the television, flipping through the channels. "Thanks for the tea," he said, taking a sip. He turned his head as there was a knock on the door.

"Come in, Mrs Hudson," he called.

Mrs Hudson came through the door. "Here's your post," she said, handing Sherlock some envelopes. She sat down in Sherlock's chair. "So how's everything? Working on any new cases?"

Sherlock glanced over at John.

"Yes, we just came back from lunch and now he's catching up a bit," John said. This was hard to talk about -- she already thought they were together so how should he share the news? _We just broke in the sofa._ He flushed lightly at his own thought and sipped at his tea, looking back at Sherlock. _What do I say, psychic?_

Sherlock looked at John as he spoke and then looked over at Mrs Hudson, who was smiling suspiciously. "Did you hear us, then?" he asked.

"I came up a little earlier -- I even knocked, but I guess you were . . . otherwise occupied," she said. "I wasn't listening, it's just I couldn't help . . ." She smiled at Sherlock and then looked over at John and smiled at him. "Well, isn't this nice, though? I told you . . . I knew it from the start, didn't I?"

"Yes, yes, yes, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said, "you have totally invaded your tenants' privacy, you should feel extremely pleased with yourself."

"Oh shush yourself, Sherlock Holmes," Mrs Hudson said. She looked back to John. "Are you sure this is what you want?" she asked, motioning towards Sherlock and rolling her eyes.

John had almost dropped his tea, sloshing some over onto the arm of the chair. When had she come up? What had she heard? He was so flustered he couldn't even answer her question -- didn't even hear what she had asked exactly.

"Well, congratulations to you both," Mrs Hudson said. She stood up. "I knew it, though. You're a perfect partnership -- John's loveliness cancels out all your . . . less-than-loveliness," she said, tapping Sherlock as she passed to head out.

Sherlock flicked through the post and then turned to John. "Don't have that face on, John," he said. "It's only Mrs Hudson and I'm not even entirely sure I believe what she said. We weren't very noisy . . . besides it's our home -- we can be as noisy as we'd like. Please don't get all weird about this." _  
_

"She . . . I said . . .," John sighed and covered his face with his hand. "I am not being weird, Sherlock. I just . . . I didn't expect that."

"What? What did she say that surprised you?"

"That she heard us," John said. "I just didn't expect that," he shrugged.

"Well, I just don't want you to think you have to be quiet all the time now," Sherlock said. "I like to hear your noises," he glanced over at John and smiled cheekily.

John flushed lightly and shook his head. "Well, yes, I like hearing you as well. I just don't like Mrs. Hudson hearing," he smiled.

"From now on then, we'll just be extra quiet if we're shagging in the front room," Sherlock said, standing up. He carried his mug into the kitchen to put it into the sink. "Maybe we could sleep in my room tonight?" he said. "If you want to, obviously, it's not a requirement that we sleep together every night, if you don't want to. I don't want to pressure you."

"I do want to," John said. "I like being close with you like that. I sleep better that way," he smiled.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I like it, too, which surprises me a little. But I do." He turned and said, "I think I'm going to do some reading, but I think I'll do it in my bedroom, okay?"

"Sure. I'll be on the blog here so just let me know if you need anything," John smiled.

Sherlock went into his room but left the door open. He hoped John wasn't too freaked out by the Mrs Hudson thing, but was grateful that John hadn't insisted Sherlock not be alone. In truth, Sherlock would happily spend the entire day curled up in bed, or on the sofa, or wherever he could be pressed up next to John. But he knew that wasn't very realistic; each of them had treasured their alone time before, that shouldn't change now. He sat down on the bed to read, but then got up and moved to the chair.

John answered some messages on the blog, wrote back to comments, then made something quick for dinner. Before going to bed he made two fresh mugs of tea and headed in. "It's me," he said pointlessly, grinning at Sherlock.

"Good," Sherlock said, looking up and smiling. "Yours is the just the face I wanted to see." He glanced at his watch. "That went fast," he said, "I didn't think I'd read that long." He stood up and stretched before taking the tea from John and setting it down on the bedside table. "Do you have to get up early tomorrow?" he said starting to take off his clothes to change into his pajamas.

John nodded. "I work in the morning and I'd like a shower before," he smiled. "I'll try not to wake you up when I go."

"I don't mind if you wake me up," Sherlock said. He nipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face, before returning and sliding under the covers. "Come lie beside me," he said, reaching out for John.

John stripped down to his pants and undershirt before climbing beside him, scooting over into his arms.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. "How's your backside? Will you be all right by tomorrow?"

"I'll be okay."

"Would it help if I do this?" Sherlock said, rolling them over so he was lying on top of John. He kissed his mouth and wiggled his hips a little.

John grinned. "I think it might."

"How about if I put it in my mouth?" Sherlock said, sliding down John's body.

"Yes, that might just do it," John smiled.

Sherlock pulled down John's pajamas and started licking John's soft cock. He lifted one hand to John's chest and then dropped it to his side to hold onto his hand. He hummed as he moved his mouth over John.

John hummed softly, lifting himself to watch.

"I'm just going to do it slow and soft, I think," Sherlock said. "I want you to feel nice and relaxed." He swirled his tongue around the tip and then licked stripes up and down. Then he paused and put some kisses onto John's belly.

"That sounds nice," he murmured, petting Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock moved back to John's cock, licking it from base to tip. "Hmm," he said, "it seems different now . . . bigger somehow." He smiled and then slipped it back into his mouth, lifting his hand to steady it at John's body. He kept his movements slow and steady, a mixture of licking, sucking and kissing.

"That's . . . don't stop . . .please," John moaned softly, still petting his hair.

Sherlock lifted his head to look up at John. "Are you planning on coming from this?" he asked cheekily. "I was thinking I'd just get it all hard and wet for you and then you could go to sleep." As he spoke, he slipped his hand down to cup and stroke John's balls before sucking him in again, a bit further down before pulling back up. He continued this movement, adjusting his own body a little on the bed.

"Don't you dare," John breathed, squirming on the bed a bit. Sherlock was very good at making him feel good.

Sherlock lifted his head. "Then come already, no one's stopping you," Sherlock said, laughing a bit at himself. "Come in my mouth," he said more softly and went back to sucking John's cock. He used his hands to pull John's legs far apart and then went back to tugging lightly on his balls. He rocked his own hips gently against the mattress.

John groaned and gripped his hair. "You have . . . the filthy mouth," he managed before he came, calling out for Sherlock. He tried not to buck up onto his mouth as he writhed beneath him.

Sherlock pressed John down his throat, humming against him. His other hand squeezed one of John's thigh.

John relaxed back onto the bed and loosened his fingers from Sherlock's hair. "That was nice," he grinned, and then giggled quietly.

Sherlock wiped his mouth and then tipped his face up. "Are you going to go straight to sleep now or are you going to help me with this?" Sherlock said, pressing himself against John's leg.

"Of course I'll help," John smiled, moving to sit up. "I want to do that for you."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'm not going to argue with you. Should I lie down or what? Tell me."

"Yes, this time you lie down," he said, thinking about things they could try next time. He moved between Sherlock's legs, tugging his clothes out of the way. He smiled at the sight of his cock, biting his lip. He wrapped his fingers around and stroked slowly, grazing. "What if I just left you like this?"

"I would wait until you fell to sleep and then rub against you until I covered your pajamas in come," Sherlock said, grinning. Even though they were being silly, John's touch still felt good.

John laughed and shook his head. "I think I would wake up, and then I would push you away like the pervert you are!" He gripped Sherlock harder but kept the slow pace. He knew it was probably agonising, but he couldn't help enjoying it.

"I'd never really do that," Sherlock said. "Instead I'd just insist you woke up and finished me off." He smiled at John. He bucked his hips up a bit to move against John's hand.

John scooted back and licked at the tip, sucking the head into his mouth. "I wouldn't do that to you either," he murmured, sucking the head again. 

"Just make me come and quit talking," Sherlock teased. He sank back into the bed. "Yes, like that . . . that's good, John."

John glanced up at him before swallowing him down, trying to do what he'd done the night before. He stroked what he couldn't take just yet. 

Sherlock bucked up slightly, trying not to go too far. He reached down and grasped John's shoulder. "Doing it to you drove me a bit mad, John, I'm close already . . . that's good just like that . . ." He closed his eyes and lifted his other hand to his own hair.

John bobbed up and down, swallowing around him to get ready for his climax. He glanced up, tugging at his balls and massaging lightly. 

"John," Sherlock said softly. He was now lifting his hips gently, matching the rhythm of John's mouth and hands. "I'm going to come," he said quite calmly, trying to hold out until John decided whether or not to pull off.

John hummed and took him a bit deeper, touching his thigh so he would know it was okay. 

Sherlock let himself go a little, rocking on the bed. John's mouth felt so good. It was so warm and wet -- and well . . . John's. That's what made it feel so good. He gripped the sheets with his fists. The tension filled his whole body and he made one last push and then his body jerked and he came, dropping his head back against the pillow.

John hummed in surprise, coming up to the tip and swallowing, lifting his eyes to watch him. He was so beautiful.

Sherlock opened his eyes as he caught his breath. He lifted his head and reached down for John, pulling him up the bed. "You're good to me," he said softly.

"Good," John smiled, crawling up to lay beside him.

"Thank you," Sherlock said, kissing the top of John's head. "Did you set your alarm?"

"Yeah, it's all ready to go," he said, kissing him before setting down.

"If you can't sleep or anything, because of being in my room, I won't have my feelings hurt if you move to yours, I know you've got to get a proper rest," Sherlock said, snuggling under the covers.

"I told you I sleep better with you," John smiled.

"John, I'm trying to be a supportive boyfriend, please just allow me that," Sherlock said, teasingly. He closed his eyes. "Shush now, some of us need our rest." He squeezed John's hand.

"Shh," John smiled, taking his hand happily.

Sherlock fell asleep quickly, wrapped around John. He woke up when John got up for work, kissing him before he left. He sent a number of texts to John throughout the day -- some just little tidbits of info he'd discovered while researching ( _Antifreeze in bowls outside will attract and kill feral cats._ ) and some questions about the flat ( _Have you hidden the remote? That's cruel.)._ Some were flirtatious ( _You are needed at Baker Street. I am nude_.) and some just simply said _I'm bored. Come home_. This seemed to happen each day that John went to work.

The first time they went to a crime scene together, they both acted the same as they had before. The second time, Sherlock grabbed John's hand as they approached. He noticed a few people's glances but no one said anything . . . aloud. Lestrade's grin spoke volumes, but that was it.

At the flat, they managed to christen the kitchen table, the bath and the sitting room floor. They didn't have sex everyday, but every night they slept curled together, switching between each other's rooms. It all seemed to be working.

Whatever nerves John had before all of this change seemed so silly now because being with Sherlock was the easiest thing he'd ever done. Mrs Hudson's constant remarks made more sense to him now -- there was hardly a difference in their behaviour together except for the physical things. No one at the crime scene had even noticed until they showed up holding hands. As much as he hated leaving for work, a small part of him enjoyed it for the silly texts he would get all day. This was a new side of Sherlock, and John was so happy to be the one he chose to share it with. 


	10. The Trial Period Ends

When the month passed John hadn't even realised, but a small nagging worry in the back of his head reminded him. He knew the deal couldn't possibly be on anymore -- it was clear they were both happy and he had long since given up on the 'trial period' of this. He loved Sherlock -- he knew that the night things became more -- and he didn't want it to be like before. When he left for work that morning, he almost texted Sherlock to tell him -- something casual about how happy he was or how he was glad the deal was off. Every time he started a message he would reconsider, get too nervous, and delete it. Sherlock would have mentioned something if he was going to end this. John tried very hard not to worry. 

After John left that morning, Sherlock went back to bed. He stretched out across the sheets, breathing in deeply. It didn't smell like his bed anymore. It smelled liked theirs. He rolled over and thought about all the things that were different. The truth is, even the things that seemed the same were different as well. They felt different.

None of this is what Sherlock had expected that day Mike introduced Sherlock and John. He was pretty sure John hadn't expected any of it either. It was so strange.

When the need for a cup of tea became too great, Sherlock dragged himself back out of bed and eventually to his desk where he checked his email. He noticed the date. It'd been a month since their first kiss. Only a month -- strange again as there was a part of Sherlock that felt like their relationship had always existed. Is this what he wanted their relationship to be like forever? Is this what John wanted?

_FYI: Our trial period ends today. Perhaps we should have a talk when you get home to decide about continuing. SH_

He hit Send before he remembered the last time they had attempted to 'talk' about their relationship; it hadn't gone very well at all. He'd have to make sure that didn't happen again.

When the phone vibrated in John's pocket, a spike of fear ripped through him before he shook it off. He rushed through the patient he was with and pulled the phone out, already smiling at what was probably a naked picture of Sherlock. But then he read it and his smiled faded and put the phone away without answering. He sank down in his chair and looked at the time. He only had an hour left but . . . if he didn't go home they couldn't talk about it. _You can't stay away forever._ Just for a little bit so he could figure out what to say. He pulled some files closer and started working on those. He would simply just not notice the time. 

John did not respond. This was unusual. Perhaps he was just busy. Sherlock set his phone to the side and got up from the desk. But he couldn't help himself -- this was too unusual. Even when he was busy, John always replied. He checked his phone again. Nothing.

This is ridiculous, Sherlock said aloud. Why did John's not responding make his stomach hurt? This is ridiculous, he said again. He decided to take a shower. Surely John will have responded by the time he was finished.

But he hadn't. Sherlock came out of the bathroom and saw no flashing light on his phone. He glanced at the clock -- John would be home shortly. That must be the reason he hadn't responded. He was probably already on his way home. He'd be home any moment.

John couldn't even pretend to be working. All he kept thinking was that he was going to walk into the flat and Sherlock was going to tell him that while it'd been fun, he'd had enough now. And a hundred other variations of that. He knew he was hiding. He stayed in his chair and tried not to watch the clock ticking by the minutes. _Maybe if I go home late he'll be so relieved to see me he'll forget the deal for another day._ Pathetic. How didn't he see the signs? Sherlock really put effort into making it all seem real -- he was glad he hadn't been stupid enough to say he loved him. 

John was now an hour late. This wasn't right. Sherlock's first thought was that something bad had happened to him -- what other reason could there be for John not coming straight home? Sherlock's mind went to the extreme too fast and he caught himself. Really, Sherlock, what do you think happened? A terrorist attack at John's surgery? That's not why John hadn't come home.

Everything was normal. Until Sherlock had mentioned their talk. Their talk about continuing the relationship. John did not want to have that talk. Why?

He stared out the window for a few minutes -- if he saw John, Sherlock could pretend that he wasn't late, he would act normally, he wouldn't mention the trial period. He'd just leave it. But he didn't see John. He stood there just willing a cab to pull up from which John would emerge. But it didn't. He stood there until he couldn't anymore. He stood there until it could not be denied that John was deliberately coming home late. Sherlock moved to his desk and got out a piece of paper and began writing. He folded the paper and slid it into an envelope, sealing it and writing John's name on front. He propped it up on the table and then went into his bedroom, shutting the door. He picked up his phone.

_It's clear you do not want to talk. I shan't make you. But there's nothing wrong with reflecting, John, making sure this is what we both want. I have written out my evaluation, you'll find it on the table. I would appreciate your doing the same for me. I've gone to bed. I hope I'll see you in the morning. SH_

John was going to be sick. There was no way he was going to make it home without getting sick. The message sat heavily in chest, with words like 'reflecting' and 'evaluation' attacking his mind. He decided to walk home in hopes that the fresh air would calm him down a bit. It did little to help him. When he got home he noticed he was sneaking around, being extra quiet. He looked towards Sherlock's room and thought maybe he was being a bit silly. Or maybe he should just go to bed. He realised he didn't know where to go. Sherlock's room would be awkward, and the talk would be inevitable. If he went up to his own room he would be sealing the deal of the trial period being over. He was just considering how unreasonable it would be to sleep on the sofa when he saw the envelope. He picked it up with shaky hands, opening it quietly. Now he was going to be sick for sure. 

It was hand written. And only five words long. It said,

_I love you, John Watson._

A sound escaped John that he honestly couldn't place -- a sigh, a sob, a moan. That had been the last thing he'd expected. All the wild scenarios in his head and he never considered that a trial period, instead of ending, could move on to something better. He went to Sherlock's room and let himself in, wanting to face him when he spoke, but he stayed flat against the door.

"I'm not going to lie and say I was working late. I was terrified that you were going to end this -- that we had tried it and that was the end. I know that my hiding wasn't thought out -- it was stupid - but I didn't want to lose you." He licked his lips and took a deep breath. "I love you, Sherlock."

"John," Sherlock said quietly.

John bit his lip and moved further into the room, wringing his fingers. "Will you look at me, please? I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked up at John. "I just want to make you happy. I know I don't know how to do things right. . . but I just want to make you happy. Like you make me." He didn't look away even though he really wanted to.

"I am happy -- I have been since I met you. Since the night everything changed. I thought -- well, that doesn't matter now. I love you, Sherlock. I have for the whole month, probably longer."

"I love you, too, John," Sherlock said. "I do, John, I do."

John tugged him up and took his cheeks into his hands. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came. What could he say? He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Sherlock's lightly.

Sherlock kissed John back. How had he ever been around John without wanting to kiss him, without kissing him? He moved his mouth to John's ear. "I don't ever want this to end. Don't ever let it end."

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and shook his head. "I won't," he promised. He kissed Sherlock's cheek and then his temple. "We should celebrate," he smiled.

Sherlock pulled John back to the bed. He knew what he wanted to do to mark this moment, to show John how much he loved him, to show John that he was his . . . always. He kissed John's mouth and whispered, "Will you . . . I want you . . . inside."

"Yes," John whispered, climbing up onto the bed and over his hips. "I want that, too," he said before kissing Sherlock hard again. His hand worked quickly to remove Sherlock's clothes.

Sherlock reached down to help John remove his clothes. He felt a little nervous because it had been so long, but he trusted John and trusted himself -- he wouldn't have asked if it wasn't what he wanted. He pressed up into the kiss and then dropped his head to the pillow and took a deep breath.  
  
John settled between his legs after getting the lube from the drawer. He rubbed Sherlock's thighs, leaning down to kiss his belly as he pushed Sherlock's legs open.

Sherlock reached John to rest his hand on John's head and then arm, just anywhere -- he just wanted that connection. He looked at John's face and smiled lightly.

John pecked his lips and poured a bit onto his hand, spreading it onto Sherlock's entrance slowly. "I love you so much," he reminded him before kissing his finger in.  

Sherlock closed his eyes at John's touch. He didn't focus on it -- he focused on his breath -- but he felt it. He felt John moving a part of his body into Sherlock's own body. "I love you, too," he said softly, his eyes still closed.

John moved slowly and easily, watching Sherlock's face and the small changes. He was so beautiful. Slowly he added a second finger, opening him gently and rubbing his thigh lightly.

Sherlock kept his breath steady and deep. He opened his eyes. "I need you to stay close to me, John," he said softly.

John shifted and leaned over him, pressing kisses on his lips and cheeks, working his fingers to get him ready.

"Thank you for doing this for me," Sherlock said, lifting his hands to John's head and kissing his mouth.

John slipped in a third finger while they kissed. "It's for me too, love," he said. He was leaking against Sherlock's thigh. "Are you ready?"

Sherlock nodded. "But stop if I need you to -- for a minute, I mean, don't . . . end it." He squeezed John's arm.

John smiled and pecked his lips before sitting up a bit. He found the condoms and rolled one on quickly, lining up and slowly pushing into his body. He was so hot and tight -- John groaned as he moved deeper.

Sherlock felt his body react naturally to the intrusion, but then he remembered to breathe. "Stay still for a minute," he whispered. He opened his eyes and looked at John. Seeing John, knowing it was John inside him -- John who loved him and who he loved -- helped him relax his body and his mind. "Okay," Sherlock said, "I'm okay. You can move."

John started moving slowly, pumping his hips and kissing Sherlock's mouth. It felt incredible, and he couldn't stop moaning into the kiss.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John as they kissed. "I love this," he mumbled. "I love you," he added, burying his head in John's shoulder.

"I love you," John said into his hair. He moved faster, being to feel more. "I'm close, love. Touch yourself . . . show me how much you like it," he begged.

Sherlock squeezed his hand between their bodies and gripped himself. "Don't pull away . . . stay close," he said. He started to move his hand slowly, using the friction of John's movement against his cock. He separated his legs more and then wrapped them around the back of John's legs. His cock was wet already, which his helped his hand move. "John, please . . ." he moaned softly.

"Show me . . . show me, love. Come for me," John said against his lips, kissing between the words. He was so close himself, and he tried to hold on to wait for Sherlock.

"Don't stop," Sherlock cried out and he squeezed his eyes shut tight. This was John. This was John and Sherlock. This is who they were now. His hand moved on himself and John moved over him and into him and he said John's name and suddenly he was saying it over and over as he came against John's belly, wetness spilling over his hand.

"Yes . . .fuck Sherlock, you're so . . .," John groaned, pushing deeper and letting go. He came hard, shouting for Sherlock and then crushing their lips in a hard, breathless kiss.

Sherlock kissed John's mouth through his panting. His heart was beating so fast, he felt like he could feel it pushing the blood through his veins. He held the kiss as long as he could before he pulled back, opened his eyes and looked into John's. "You okay?"

John nodded, slowly pulling out and tying off the condom. He pecked Sherlock's mouth as he lay beside him, still panting heavily. "I am. Are you?"

"I am, John," Sherlock said. "I am," he said again, turning and looking into John's eyes. He kissed him.

John kissed him back, touching his cheek lightly.

"Let's stay like this," Sherlock said, "good like this. Promise?"

John nodded. "I promise," he said. "I love you."

"I'm glad," Sherlock said. He was. He squeezed his arms around him. "Happy anniversary, John."


End file.
